


Brave

by 6wingdragon



Series: The Neverwere Moments [2]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, Narcotics, Redemption, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 174,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/6wingdragon/pseuds/6wingdragon
Summary: A lot can happen in a single weekend, the Tri-Burrow Reunion can prove a gathering too drastic to fathom while secrets and lies can prove to be riddles in disguise.  Can a rabbit look death in the eye?  Can a fox face a long shot against all odds?  This is Brave, the next story of Trustworthy, so take heart and dare to be more than you are.  Hear the words unspoken, listen to the tales untold; these are the moments that never were.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Peer back, brave ones, to younger years  
> When only boogies summed one's fears  
> And the innocent b'lieved the just  
> Before they knew of broken trust

“Who’s Dr. Cleopatra Lapis?”

John Wilde sat at his kitchen table, in his house in Conifer District, staring at his eight-year-old son Nicky and those bright, green, curious eyes of his.  “Umm…” elaborated the older fox, sweeping the otherwise empty kitchen and hallway for his mate, Jackie, since she answered such questions far better than him.  With as much composure afforded him in his bathrobe, John ignored his tea to fold one paw over the other, and then switched them the other way around before smiling calmly to his son, “I…  _ heard  _ she works with predators that are a bit… well, a bit ‘bad’.  Where’d you hear the name, Nickster?”

“Tyler Pounceski at school said his uncle went to go see Dr. Lapis,” Nicky reported, leaning up so his small paws gripped the edge of the table, recognizing when his Dad knew something really cool because his ears pointed straight up, “What does she do with bad preds?”  Nicky’s Dad always had the best answers, especially when he didn’t really know, that’s why he waited until Mom wasn’t in the room to ask them (because she gave boring answers, like “I don’t know, sweetie, but let’s find out together.”) The kit’s bushy tail swayed over his pajama bottoms as he watched his Dad’s eyes roll up and then to one side, hesitate, and then roll to the  _ other _ side, which meant it was going to be an  _ amazing _ answer.  Nicky rose up onto his toes and his tail wagged faster when his Dad put his fingers together under his nose, and then when he tapped his pointer fingers together…  Oooh, he hoped Mom brushed her teeth  _ all night _ because it was going to be one of  _ those _ answers!

John sat up.  It’d been a long day, a long  _ month _ in the suit shop after those porcupines needed modifications to accommodate their quills, and his poor paws were about to fall off one knuckle at a time.  Were it  _ his _ shop, John wouldn’t need to fix the mistakes of the tailor he “apprenticed” under.  But… he couldn’t say “no” to Nicky, not when his eyes shone as they did with youthful, innocent curiosity.  With a sigh, John gestured a sore paw to one of the kitchen table chairs, which Nicky eagerly hopped into; egad, when did he get so big?  Of course, the kit was kneeling up in the chair, but it seemed only yesterday that he still needed hoisting onto a phonebook to see over the top of the table…  John leaned back in his chair so that he balanced on the rear legs. Jackie would flay him alive for doing that in front of Nicky, but it wouldn’t compare to what she’d do to him if she knew the subject matter of their conversation.  Well, she was upstairs, and Nicky was already eight, so it wouldn’t hurt to tell a  _ little _ bit about “Dr. Cleopatra Lapis…

“There isn’t a lot known about her,” said the older fox, bracing a knee against the edge of the table to keep his balance, “only what’s heard from the ‘bad preds’ that saw her.  Rather odd, wouldn’t you say?” To this, Nicky nodded vigorously. “After all, the results of her work, mysterious as it is, are undeniable. Some of the  _ baddest _ criminals -- only the predators, though -- go to see her, and come back a little worse for the wear but… they  _ are _ much nicer.  Do you remember Mrs. Okami a few streets down?   _ She _ got in trouble because she was violent when the city tried to take her pups away last year.  Well, instead of locking her away, they sent her to go see Dr. Lapis for a few days, and not only did she get to go home afterward but they also let her keep her pups.”

Nicky was in awe at first, but then his eyes fell to the top of the table and his brow furrowed as he sat back on his ankles.  Sitting up once more, “But, Dad,” he doubted, “it sounds like Dr. Lapis does really,  _ really  _ good stuff, so why’s she so mysterious?  Mr. Lapis makes my fox-flu medicine, and  _ everyone _ knows about  _ him _ .”  He then gasped as a thought crossed his mind, looked around before leaning over the table to whisper, “Is she like Mrs. Foxglove?  Does Dr. Lapis secretly save Zootopia, too?”

Bless his little heart and that puerile grin.  Nicky was always sly with his questions, which he got from his mother, of course; John doubted  _ he _ helped any in that regard.  The older fox glanced about with hooded eyes, gently stroking his jaw in that way he knew made Nicky’s eyes go even  _ wider  _ with wonder.  “Well…” John drew out, letting the gentle creak of his chair punctuate the silence and so bring his son onto his little toes, “I wouldn’t deny there are…  _ some _ parallels.”  Nicky nearly leaped onto the table but his father’s palm guided him back into his seat.  John continued forward until the front legs of his chair connected with the kitchen floor, thus allowing his elbow to rest on the tabletop as he wove his fingers together, and gave his son a sly grin.  Nicky was squatting on the chair now, paws holding the table’s edge for dear life, and though his snout was beneath and out of sight, his smile spread up the cheeks and to the eyes (and his tail gave a thorough brushing to the back of his chair).  “Why,” continued John, “what if Mr. Lapis worked with Dr. Lapis, in secret?” he poised.

Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove were, of course,  _ the _ coolest  _ ever _ , but to think that there were bunnies just like them?  Nicky could hardly contain himself!

“Now, this is  _ very _ important, Nicky,” he said with a single raised finger, the others held in a loose loop with his thumb, “Dr. Lapis is  _ not _ the type of doctor you see twice a year for a check-up or go to when you have a cold.  She’s a doctor you only see  _ once _ ,” he warned, paw closing into a fist but keeping his index high, and his son lifted his head and splayed his ears back, the excitement in his eyes shifting from glee to trepidation (but still excitement all the same) as that finger slowly lowered in Nicky’s direction, which, likewise, lowered the kit’s tail, “and you can count yourself properly sly if you never,  _ ever _ see her.”

“Never see  _ who _ , John?” asked Jackie, a.k.a., Mom, whose uncanny ability to simply appear in parts of the house without a sound of announcement helped hone the reactions of her two favorite foxes in the world.  She stood in the doorway from the hall to the kitchen, arms crossed nonchalantly over her own bathrobe.

Both father and son froze, gazes locked across the table from each other, until John pivoted his head slowly with a relaxing smile, the ironclad finger he pointed slipping into a loose, wheeling gesture.  “Oh… well, it was more of a general-”

“Who shouldn’t we see, Nicky?”

“A… doctor…?” the kit tried, but he didn’t doubt that a wooden spoon had his tail’s name on it if he wasn’t super careful about how he answered (his Mom could smell a lie from down the block, he was sure of it).  Mom’s feet were always so quiet, that even though he watched her walk over to the table and then behind his chair, he didn’t even hear her claws click on the tile, not like Dad’s did. Even so, when she disappeared past his field of vision, such that he would need to crane his neck to see her, Nicky could still feel her presence looming over him.  He once more looked at his Dad, who looked back, and then Dad’s eyes flicked up, so Nicky  _ knew _ Mom was directly behind him, and his tail curled about his hunkered legs in attempts to shrink under the table.

“A ‘ _ doctor’ _ , you say?” Jackie repeated calmly, her paws on the corners of the back of her son’s chair, letting her petite physique lean against it with only the faintest whisper from its framework.  When the silence settled in the room, Nicky affirmed her with a soft nod and grunt, to which the vixen continued her way around his chair, fingertips dragging along its back, letting her footfall, at last, make poignant clicks of her claws.  “Could this possibly be… Evil Dr.  _ Porkchop _ ?” she declared and wrapped her paws around Nicky’s sides in a flurry of merciless tickles, leaning in to nibble at his neck as he writhed and shrieked with uncontrollable mirth.  John joined in with a hearty laugh of his own as their son suffered the jovial assault.

“No, Mom!” Nicky finally managed after a lungful of air, standing on his chair as his Mom hugged him with a contented trill, a cheek of hers pressed to his, he still heaving and weakly flailing in attempts to be free, “Dr. Porkchop’s a ‘him’, not a ‘her’!”

“Oh, is he?” Jackie asked, and busied herself with smoothing her kit’s fur, “Well then, I suppose if it’s not Evil Dr. Porkchop, then whatever  _ ‘general’ _ doctor you do or not ever see matters only if, as your father said, you count yourself as ‘properly sly’.  Yes?” With another affirmation from Nicky, this one brighter and louder, she leaned in and presented her cheek, “Now, kiss me good night,” to which Nicky dutifully did, “And the other,” presenting her other cheek, and he dutifully did once more.  Cradling his chin in her dainty fingers, she touched their noses together and then gave his belly a gentle tickle, “Go brush your teeth, I can still smell the blueberries you had for dessert. Your father will be up in a bit to tuck you in.”

Nicky giggled and hopped down from the chair to scamper out of the kitchen, through the hallway, and up the stairs.  Jackie sighed and smiled as she watched him, before turning to her mate, standing adjacent and leaning against the table.

“He heard about Dr. Lapis from a classmate at school today,” John reported in a low voice but was cut off by Jackie’s finger at his lips.

“No time to dally, John, our son needs tucking in, first,” she stated loudly and clearly, triggering the continued scamper of tiny paws up the full flight of stairs with the telltale creak near the top.  “Dr.  _ Cleopatra _ Lapis?” hushed Jackie with agitated dread after leaning in and removing her finger.

“No, the  _ other _ ‘correctional’ doctor from pred-therapy,” John snarked, and they both huffed, “I didn’t tell him anything, but he drew the conclusion that she and Felix Oswald Lapis are some… rabbit version of Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove.”

Jackie couldn’t help but smirk and roll her eyes, “ _ That _ would be awkward,” she said, with a grimace to match the inclination, “I was hoping he wouldn’t know about her until at least  _ twelve _ , but we can’t help what he hears at school.  Whom did he hear it from, do you know?”

“From Pounceski’s cub.  I think it was his Uncle Xander.”

“Oh!” Jackie gasped, a paw over her mouth, “No wonder Susanna was so upset…”

John gently rubbed her arm, “On a lighter note, Nicky’s really taken to making those popsicles how I showed him,” he said with a smile, hoping the levity might help her as he only knew how.

“John,” she said patiently, looking him in the face, “you  _ know _ what Nicky wants more than anything, and all of these hobbies you keep trying with him won’t change that.”

He frowned and sighed through his nose, “You know why I’m not okay with it.”

“ _ John _ ,” she repeated, “I know that you got a bad read from those other kids, but the Junior Ranger Scouts uphold teamwork and inclusion no matter the species, and if you keep holding Nicky back from that he’ll grow to resent you, or worse,  _ distrust _ you.”

“I didn’t get a ‘bad read’, Jackie, the kids in that troop looked downright  _ malicious _ when they saw Nicky, and their parents weren’t too fond of  _ me _ , either.”

“That’s because you looked at the uniform in the catalog and said, ‘I can make that’.”

“I’d have added ‘better’, ‘cheaper’, and ‘easily’ if you didn’t bushwhack me,” he mentioned.  Jackie’s whacking, bushy tail served to correct the manners and etiquette of her kits, both son and mate alike, but without any precursory movement of her hips, it came at no warning to deliver swift maternal (or spousal) edification.

“Well, your tone of voice spoke more than your words could,” Jackie berated and wagged a finger, “Nicky  _ is  _ joining that troop in one of  _ their _ uniforms.”  She then put her paws to her mate’s chest, “Let him belong, John, let him make that decision for himself.  You see how happy he gets just thinking about it. Whatever happens, we can deal with it as a family. And I know the uniform is… pricey, but I have some money set aside, and I can take some extra jobs to pay for it.”

His arms wrapped around her waist, smirking, “Are you sure I can’t make him a uniform?  I’d bet my tail that the beat cops around here will be green with envy when they see him walking down the street in it.”

She cupped his cheek and brushed her nose and lips to his, “He wants to  _ belong _ , John, and he can’t do that in a better, yet less expensive uniform,” to which he finally complied with a kiss.  “Now,” Jackie said as her mate’s face lingered with that adorably stupid grin of his, “go brush your teeth and tuck in our son, I’ll be up in the bit.”

“Yes’m,” he hummed, turning on a heel with a spring in his step, despite his tiredness.  Jackie was right of course, she often was, especially on such matters. Thanks to his profession, John understood that clothes spoke volumes about the mammal wearing them, and for his son to show up in a homemade (granted,  _ professionally _ crafted, but still homemade) uniform wouldn’t be the message Nicky wanted to send.  Nicky wanted to join the JRS not only because it would be fun, hone life skills, and he’d be making friends, but somehow the kit got it in his head that if a group of prey accepted him, a  _ fox _ , that it would be the precursor to the acceptance and trust of foxes everywhere.  John used to dream big like that, but nowadays he dreamt only of comfortable clothes, hot tea, big tips, and most of all, the smiling faces of his mate and son; if that meant choking down his pride, then it didn’t even warrant a second thought.

With a quick peek inside his son’s bathroom, the older fox spotted the wet sink, the askew toothpaste tube cap, the not fully rinsed toothbrush, a stray length of floss, and the disheveled towel, all signs that an eight-year-old practiced dental hygiene.  Walking across the hall, John pushed the bedroom door open and found, as he expected, a still made bed with no kit inside (yet the bite mark-ridden, re-stitched, re-stuffed, patched mess of a pillow his son never slept without was sitting patiently atop the covers).  Nicky was hiding, of course, as he liked to do, and judging by the weight of the door, he was hanging right on the other side, probably with a jump rope looped around the coat hook (since there were no little claws gripping around the top).

“Odd,” John announced, and guided the door open completely to make an enclosed triangle with the nearby corner, “My son  _ should _ be in here  _ some _ where…”  His ear flicked at a muffled snicker from behind the door, thus confirming his suspicions in the same way one needed to confirm the wetness of water.  Using his foot to hold the door in place, John reached over to grab a nearby chair he liked to keep in his son’s room for story time, and ever-so-quietly wedged it under the knob.  “I guess I’ll have to wait for him here, then,” he said, and flopped onto his son’s bed, shins hanging off the end, paws folded behind his head.

The door creaked a bit as Nicky grunted in an attempt to push it open, more likely than not for an ambushing pounce, and earned a self-pleased glance from his Dad as the chair held fast.  When the gentle scraping of his little claws on wood sounded his attempts at escape, John closed his eyes and awaited the call for assistance. Except no signal of surrender came, so he looked up in time to spot his son leaping through the air from the top of the door in a beautifully executed ambushing pounce.  They bounced on the bed in a vulpine tussle, Nicky getting his young teeth into the pelt on his father’s arm with playful growling and attempts to impress physical superiority, but the bite was neither strong enough nor his fangs sharp enough to be felt in any threatening manner.

“ _ Some _ one’s been playing with those wolf pups up the way, again,” John inferred, looping an arm around his son’s waist and rolling to his feet beside the bed, “You’re winning, I assume?”

Nicky grinned and scoffed (just like Dad does), crossing his arms while dangling in the grip for a casual boast, “Me and Finnick are twenty-seven to their three.”  When he was sat down on his bed, the kit scurried under the covers and lay back, smiling up at the older fox as the sheets and covers were tucked in around him, and his pillow picked up from the ground, brushed off, and nestled next to his head.

“Not picking any fights, I hope,” prompted John, dislodging the chair from beneath the doorknob to bring it around for his own sitting pleasure.

“No sir, I’m picking my  _ battles _ ,” responded Nicky.

“That’s my boy,” he commended with a rub between the kit’s ears, and then leaned back in his chair with a foot propped against the side of the bed, cradling his chin in one knuckle, “So, what shall the story be tonight, Nickster?  Maybe ‘The Trumpeter Gator’, or perhaps ‘The War of the Ants and the Grasshoppers’?”

“Are there any stories about Dr. Lapis?” Nicky asked in a hushed tone, leaning forward and out of his sheets a bit to smile with anticipation.

It took all of John’s willpower not to fall backwards in his chair, and was glad that he, in his usual manner, had hooded his eyes in thought and so only needed to continue that particular demeanor, “Well…” he answered with a doubtful frown, “I know  _ one _ , but you wouldn’t want to hear it…”

The kit’s tail was out and swaying as he got onto his knees, pinning his favorite pillow into the bed to beseech his Dad, “I do!” he almost yelped, but remembered that Mom could be in the hall and he wouldn’t know it until he saw her, and quieted down, “I  _ do _ wanna hear it!  Please?” he strained.

John gave a “Hmm…” and eyed his son in uncertainty, “I dunno, it’s got some stuff I don’t think you’re old enough for.”

“I am, Dad!” he pleaded, brow soon furrowing, “I’m already eight, almost  _ nine _ !”

“Oh,  _ almost _ nine?” pondered John, his own brow relaxing, even arching high to consider the new information, “Alright, but  _ if _ I tell you this story,” he said and leaned in, urging his son closer by bracing his back and hooking him, even putting up his other paw in secrecy, “Your mother  _ can’t _ know that you heard it, or that I told you, right?”

“Yeah!”

“And I can only tell you this story  _ once _ , right?”

“Yeah!  Yeah!”

“Okay, but I warn you, this story has…” he lifted his head out of the huddle to check the door, and then the window, and then got closer still by wrapping his arm around the younger fox’s shoulders, “ _ Kissing _ .”

“ _ Eww! _ ” revulsed Nicky, trying to retreat with a reeling motion, lifting his Dad’s elbow and falling back onto the bed, sticking out his tongue, “No kissing!”

“C’mon, you’re almost  _ nine _ , Nickster; you’re old enough for a kissing story,” John assured with an easy smirk, leaning an elbow on a knee to prop up his head.

“No!”

“Many years ago, Dr. Lapis-” he began anyway.

“No!  No, Dr. Lapis!”

“Alright,” huffed John with a defeated shrug.  Worked every time.

“I changed my mind, I wanna hear about Grandpa Pib!” declared the kit, slipping back under the covers, “He’s a pirate captain, and  _ they _ don’t kiss!”

Well, not entirely true, but his son didn’t need to know that, yet.  “Nicky, your grandfather was a  _ privateer _ ,” John corrected, “Do you remember the difference?”

The kit nodded eagerly, “It means he was  _ like _ a pirate but wasn’t a criminal, right?” he beamed, so very,  _ very _ glad to get away from the terror of…  _ kissing _ .

“That’s right,” the older fox affirmed, and inwardly sighed in soulful relief to have deterred his son’s interest from Dr. Lapis, “Captain Piberius Savage, from whom you get your middle name,” that part was important, which either he or Nicky often pointed out, “was one of the finest sailors on the open sea, and the bravest fox in the navy.  He’d lost his right eye and right paw, so instead had a  _ hook _ ,” he grinned, and made the shape out of his fingers, “which when used together with his debonair swordplay, the red-furred privateer came to be known as-”

* * *

“‘The Scarlet Hook’, so named for the bloody hook in place of his right paw, which he used to  _ execute _ his enemies,” said Ms. Palmer, an ibex swinging her cloven hoof down on her desk to dramatize the point, thus getting a muted, startled cry from her class of grade-schoolers, “Historically, he is one of the worst pirates to ever sail, and it’s considered a favor the world over when he disappeared a hundred years ago.  However, in his final act of depravity -- the end of that  _ long _ list of crimes we just went over -- Captain Piberius Savage  _ kidnapped _ a village of innocents, never to be seen again.”  She leaned against her desk, decorated with anchors and sailboats for the school’s Maritime Week.

Ms. Palmer had asked if anyone knew about a famous sailor or sea captain, and Nicky was electric to mention his Grandpa Pib, but after all  _ that _ , the kit was glad he decided to save the big reveal about being Captain Savage’s grandson…

“Thank you, Nicky,” said the teacher, and she did sound sincere, “we should always remember that history is filled with both the good  _ and _ the bad, and maritime history is no exception.”  She gave a spirited huff and looked up at the clock as the bell rang for the end of class, “That really got away from me, didn’t it.  Okay, everyone, remember to read chapter seven tonight, and your report is due Friday,” she instructed, dismissing her class of rambunctious youth, scurrying about and shoving books and pencils into their backpacks before flooding the hallway.  All except Nicky, who approached the teacher’s desk as one would the judge’s bench.

“Ms. Palmer, did Captain Savage  _ really  _ do all those things?” he asked, hesitant to even mention the name of ‘Piberius’ in case the teacher linked it back to him.

The ibex smiled consolingly, patiently as she addressed the question, “I know it might come as something of a… a  _ shock _ , Nicky, but it’s true, Captain Savage committed a lot of terrible,  _ heinous _ crimes,” she explained, and looked at the kit in pity, “The fact of the matter is, foxes… don’t have the best track record, but it doesn’t mean  _ you _ ’re like him, right?”

“Yeah…” frowned the kit, looking down and away with regretful introspection.

Ms. Palmer sighed, but despite her reluctance, she asked with all the gentleness she could muster, “Where did you hear about Captain Savage?”

Nicky was always taught to answer an adult’s questions honestly (but not to “volunteer information”, which meant to not talk about more than what they ask), “My Dad tells me stories about him all the time, but he didn’t mention anything about kidnapping or execution…” he lamented, but then grabbed the edge of the desk and rose up on his toes, sly curiosity burning in his eyes, “But what about Montressor?  He sailed in after escaping from an exploding volcano, and even saved a crew of mutineers using  _ their _ half-burnt ship!  Or…”

She shook her head and frowned in a mixture of continued pity, but also in peripheral disappointment, “I’m afraid that’s all they are, Nicky… stories.  Captain Savage was a  _ pirate _ , and there’s no record of anyone sailing into the Montressor Seaport on a half-burned ship that  _ I _ know of.  Maybe someone did that, or something  _ like _ that in fox history, but in world history?  It’s simply not there.” Ms. Palmer sighed again as the kit returned to rest on his heels, visibly crestfallen, “Listen… your father, John Wilde, right?  He’s a really nice mammal, easy to like, and I’m sure he ‘spins a good yarn’-” she said, trying to alleviate the situation with some sailor lingo.

“No!” Nicky cried, and then continued with his inside voice, “Foxes don’t lie to each other, and they don’t keep secrets from each other,” and stalked out before she could respond.  Nicky knew his Dad told stories, but he also knew the difference between stories and lies, and his Dad wouldn’t lie to him. Everything he heard about Grandpa Pib was  _ real _ , Nicky knew it in his heart.  He’ll ask Dad when he gets home and set things straight.

Out in the hall waited Nicky’s best friend ever, Finnick Faire, whose long, sandy ears twitched at the red fox’s approach.  “Hi Nicky,” he said in a high, soft voice, and then in a show of passion that was quite uncommon for him, he balled his tiny paws into fists and gave his pal a determined glare, “I don’t care what Ms. Palmer says,  _ I _ believe you about your Grandpa Pib,” and then caught himself, ears going back and head bowing, “I’m sorry, I did it again…”

Nicky looped an arm around the smaller fox’s shoulders to usher him down the hallway, “It’s okay, Finnick, you weren’t eavesdropping, because I was going to tell you anyway,” he assured with a bright grin.

“Are you sure…?”

“Absolutely positive!”

“Okay…”

As they skirted around other students fiddling with their lockers or chatting in their herds, Nicky leaned in to ask, “Finnick, what’s wrong?  You’ve been sad all day, even though we got pudding at lunch.”

The fennec fox shook his head, large ears swaying with a grunt of denial, “No, not here…” he hushed, his ears giving a twitch, “Outside.”  To this, Nicky nodded, and when they were out in the schoolyard, on the shadier side of the building (and Finnick was certain no one else was within earshot), he hugged his knees and stared at the ground.  “D’you remember a few days ago, when Tyler said his uncle went to see…” he gulped, and whispered, “ _ Dr. Lapis _ ?  I didn’t mean to, but I heard some of the neighbors talking and I think they’re gonna take my Dad to see her, too…”

Nicky frowned, “Was he yelling again?”  Mr. Faire’s voice was  _ way _ bigger than him and he was always mad about something, ever since he lost his mate (according to Nicky’s Mom).  Finnick sniffed and nodded, tail curling a bit tighter around his ankles. Nicky scooted in a bit closer, and gave his best comforting smile, “It’ll be okay because my Dad told me that when preds go see Dr. Lapis, they come back  _ better _ .”

“Really?” asked the smaller fox, lifting his head to his best friend with a sad, yet hopeful sheen in his eyes, and wiped them both on the back of his wrist, “What’s gonna happen to my Dad?”

“I don’t know,” Nicky shrugged, “no one does, except the preds that go see her.  They come back a ‘little worse for the wear’, but remember Mr. Lapis? He and Dr. Lapis save the city in  _ secret _ , just like Mr. and Mrs. Foxglove.”

Finnick gasped, and pivoted in his seat to face his friend a little more, “Dr. Lapis is like Mrs. Foxglove?” he asked, the corners of his mouth curling up only the slightest bit.

Nicky nodded and smiled, “I  _ think _ so anyway.  She fixes bad preds, and if she’s with Mr. Lapis, then she’s gotta be a bunny, so you know she’s nice.  And it’ll only be for a few days, so if they  _ do _ come for your dad, you can stay with us until he comes back, okay?”

The large-eared fox smiled in relief and gratitude, looking at his toes wiggling on the ground, “Thanks, Nicky.”

“If we foxes don’t look out for each other, who will, right?”

* * *

“Right,” said Judy Hopps, leaning against the van’s passenger door, a leg propped up on the seat as she cradled an elbow in one paw, and tapped her cheek with the other, “that actually connects a few things: she and Uncle Magnus have been mated for at least as long as I’ve been alive, so you certainly could’ve heard that name back when you were a kit, Nick, which would also explain why the name ‘Dr. Cleopatra Lapis’ dropped into obscurity since it changed to ‘Mrs. Clea Hopps’, and if I remember my metropolitan history, Hexward’s popularity skyrocketed at around that time, too.  Thoughts, Nick?”

“What about, the coincidence a psychopath’s mate is a shrink and also blood-related to the head of  _ the _ major drug company of Zootopia, or the mind-numbingly expansive reach of bunny families that no one seems to notice?” Nick asked in attempts to narrow down his partner’s line of questioning, “Because we’ll run out of gas before I get the chance to cover both.”

“Either-or, but let’s start with the former,” decided Judy, the smirk almost reaching her ear, but returned to a professional level of lip-curling as she continued, “At a glance, Aunt Clea has or had access to information on bunnies prescribed antidepressants, and from there could build a roster of potential ‘candidates’,” she air-quoted, “with relative ease.”

“What I can remember from my dubiously reliable eight-year-old brain, ‘Dr. Lapis’ was involved with making ‘bad preds good’,” added Nick, likewise air-quoting around the steering wheel, “which leads me to believe she was somehow involved with pred-therapy before it was illegalized.  The fact that she was never mentioned or even alluded to during that whole PredaTherp debacle twelve years ago  _ would _ be a point in her favor…” he prompted.

“ _ Except _ strong connections like Felix Lapis and Uncle Magnus might’ve earned her some protection during all that,” responded Judy, “A psychiatrist would be invaluable to pred-therapy if they’re meant to return to society, like small-time offenders or the mentally disturbed.”  

Gideon frowned.  “D’you think she was involved with  _ my  _ pred-therapy?”

The taller fox shook his head, “I doubt it, even though yours was four years before that whole thing happened unless they went through the effort of transporting one kit into the city from the even  _ boonier _ boondocks Preds’ Corner was back then.  No, if anything it would be quieter to bring you somewhere secluded and remote, which Bunnyburrow has  _ lots _ of potential for.”

“Agreed,” said Judy, “The only other place that wouldn’t draw suspicion would be Cliffside Asylum, but  _ that’s _ bordering Meadowlands, about as far from Bunnyburrow as you can get while still in Zootopia.”

“Oh, I heard about that place on the news, it’s where Lionheart kept the predators before the Pred-Scare,” Gideon remembered.

“The very same, Bangs,” Nick affirmed, “Maybe  _ this _ time they’ll actually tear the place down before anyone  _ else  _ thinks about caging mammals there again.”

The stouter fox crossed his arms in thought, “I remember the day they bussed me off, and best I can figure it was a long trip.”

“The ‘best you can figure’?” Judy inquired.

“It was early in the morning and I fell back asleep, which was weird, but when I woke up again I was inside, so I don’t even know what time of day it was.”

Nick’s ear flicked.  “You fell back asleep?”

“Yeah, weird, right?”

“Why ‘weird’?” Judy further inquired.

“According to Esther, Bangs here doesn’t fall back asleep, never did.”

“I sleep like a rock, but once I’m up, I’m up, ever since I was a kit,” Gideon explained, “I don’t even nap well so that one earlier was somethin’ of a treat for me.”

The rabbit’s nose twitched, “It sounds like you were drugged.  Did the bus have transparent windows?”

“Err…” he paused, thinking back, “Yeah, because I looked out at Ma and Pa as I left…”

Nick hummed, thumbs drumming the steering wheel he loosely but securely gripped, “Why hide the location from a twelve-year-old, though?  Back when I was a kit, word was that pred-therapy, though traumatic, was an alternative to a long stint in jail or prison, and as I mentioned earlier today, a death sentence for extreme cases.”

“Stretch, not to punch a hole in your theory, but my pred-therapy was a bit more than ‘traumatic’,” Gideon air-quoted, “The only thing I remember from it was Lenny, everything else is a big ol’ cloud of nightmares.”

“I feel like I walked in on the middle of a movie,” Judy muttered, and sat up to inquire once more, “Who’s Lenny?”

“Can neither confirm nor deny,” Nick said before Gideon had a chance to answer, “‘Lenny’ may or may not be a coping mechanism for young Gideon to survive pred-therapy.”

“He was a lion cub I shared a cell with,” Gideon elaborated, “At least I  _ think  _ he was, but since I have a history of imagining lions, as I grew up I figured he was also imagined.”

Judy had a second of thought, and snapped her fingers with a smile.  “Is  _ that _ why you were so accepting of Nurse Wild’s help because you thought he was this long-lost friend from pred-therapy?”

“Honestly, I was grateful he  _ wasn’t _ ,” Gideon admitted, “I did a good job convincing myself that he didn’t exist, otherwise it meant someone else went through the same thing  _ I _ did, and I just couldn’t accept that it all really happened.  Ya’know… even with the scars.”

“ _ I _ was accepting of his help because I thought he was a passerby that could get the van out of a ditch without asking too many questions,” Nick reported, and hummed again as his train of thought returned to a previous track, “Which I suppose if either Goliath or Ruth started doing, young Gideon wouldn’t be able to say anything about the facility, and with them living so far from the city, the unspoken name of ‘Dr. Lapis’ never reached them.  In the short amount of time that I knew about adult predators coming back from Dr. Lapis, not one of them could tell  _ where _ they were when it happened.”  He stopped and leaned to the side, reaching into his pocket to pull out his buzzing, ringing phone, quickly glanced at the screen before handing it across Gideon to Judy, “Answer that, please.”

Gideon glimpsed at the call, “Who’s ‘Daddy’s Little Destroyer of Worlds’?”

“Ah, that would Finnick,” Judy chimed, accepting the phone and holding it out to use the speaker function.  Gideon’s eyebrows arched in recognition towards Nick’s comfortably smiling face as he recalled the name from an earlier conversation, coincidentally,  _ also _ when Nick was driving.  “Hiya, Finnick!” announced Judy, reaching up and affixing the phone to a dashboard holder in the baker’s van, “Long time, no hear; what’s up?”

“Oh, hey Judy,” came a deep, yet gentle voice that belied ferocity in the same way a still pond belied the presence of crocodiles, “Where’re you at?  Is Nick with ya’?”

“He’s here,” she replied sweetly, “driving at the moment.”

“Hey Nick,” and there was that ferocity hinting itself, much as a drifting log in the pond was not  _ actually  _ a log.  Gideon was not dumb to inclinations of the sort and gave the taller fox a worried frown, but Nick simply smiled and put a finger to his own lips, “I heard you’re in Bunnyburrow for the weekend.  How’s that come about?”

“Finnick, what an absolute  _ delight  _ to hear from you,” chimed Nick, “You see, Judy here dragged me along to some family reunion, and I thought I’d stir up trouble while I’m in town.  What’s new in  _ your _ neck of the woods?”

“It-” began Finnick, paused, and then spoke simply, “Who else is with you?”

Gideon nearly jumped in his seat, “Uh, hi,” he said before either covert operations specialist could stop him, even leaning in towards the phone a bit, “I’m Gideon Grey, Nick’s cousin, and I’ve known Judy since grade school.”

“No kidding.  I thought I heard a third set of lungs over there,” came the voice over the phone, another pregnant pause, and then an option for the face-to-face call service of  MuzzleTime popped up without warning, and perhaps reflexively, Gideon pushed the green accept button.  Suffice to say, neither Nick nor Judy were quick enough to stop him. “Well now, lookit you,” said Finnick, dressed in a sharp suit and sitting on a fine sofa, a sandy-furred fennec fox with the ears to match his species, and eyes the color of a creamy caramel; he laughed, though not at anyone in particular, “I didn’t think you had family out in the country, Pawps.”

The stouter fox smirked at a patient Nick, “‘Pops’,” he repeated, snickered, and then nudged him with an elbow.

“Yeah, because he loved making those ‘Pawpsicles’ when we were kits,” Finnick said, smiling still.

“Alright, Sunny,” Nick grinned right back, to which Gideon turned to Judy with a nudging elbow and repeated, “Sonny” in a continued snicker, “We can shoot the breeze all night, but talking on the phone while driving  _ is _ frowned upon by Zootopian traffic law, and we have an upstanding officer nearby that won’t abide such delinquency,” he explained.

“I’ll be short, then,” said Finnick, to muffled snickers from Gideon, “I was finishing up my night job and thought I’d check in, see what you were up to.  Thought we go out for burgers, but I can see you’re busy. Stay sly, brothers, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” and ended the call.

The van was somber save for Gideon’s waning laughter when he finally realized he was the only merriment of the three.  He folded his paws in his lap and tapped his thumbs together as Nick focused on driving, no longer grinning, and Judy seemed deep in thought.  “So…” began the stouter fox, “I got a hunch that wasn’t a casual call?”

“Not as such,” Nick began, “I rather wish you let either Carrots or I do the talking, but it is what it is.”

“I think it was a good thing Finnick saw Gideon,” suggested Judy, “He said ‘brothers’, so his message was meant for you both.”

“Wait,  _ me _ ?” asked Gideon, gesturing to the phone, “but I only heard about this fox  _ tonight _ .”

“He knows your face, though, which is telling,” Nick pointed out, “Interestingly enough, he’s also seen my Dad recently; I would recognize one of his suits anywhere.”

Her ears sprung, tense as steel, “Oh biscuits,” huffed Judy, “this is worse than I thought.”

“Guys,” Gideon fretted, pointing to himself, “I don’t think I can handle another nervous breakdown today, so stop dancing around pretending I should know what you’re talking about, and jus’ come out and say it.”

“Long and short of it,” Nick said, “Finnick and I developed a code for talking over the phone, and he waved  _ all _ the red flags in that conversation.  When he said ‘night job’, he meant he just got off the darknet-”

“The  _ what _ ?” asked Gideon.

Judy held up her paws as though on top of different shelf heights to succinctly elaborate, “There’s the Internet that everyone knows about, and beneath that is the ‘darknet’ where the black market and other secret transactions take place.  Finnick knows how to traverse it, and though he doesn’t  _ use _ it for anything illegal, he keeps his ear to it -- in a manner of speaking -- to track market flow.”

“When he said, ‘I’ll be short’, he ironically meant that he wasn’t joking,  _ at all _ ,” Nick continued, and held up a finger to further explain a point, “The significance of my father’s suit, you ask?  John Wilde is one of the most prolific tailors in the city; the  _ whole _ city.  One of the most successful?  Maybe not, but I’ve heard that some of his clients can  _ hear _ or  _ smell _ his suits from a block away.  One client, to the best of my envious knowledge, is one of the most feared crime bosses in Tunrdatown: Mr. Big.  I happen to know he wore one of my father’s suits for his daughter’s wedding.”

“In fact,” added Judy, “it’s my understanding that when he inducts someone into his company, he gifts them with a suit.  Was I male, I’m sure he would have gifted me in the same manner.” Gideon looked back and forth between them, and if his frown could fall off his jaw, it would have.

“Carrots, smack him if he loses it again,” Nick instructed, sparing a grin, “Kisses will only encourage further unfoxlike behavior.”

Gideon glanced at Judy, and then immediately addressed Nick, whispering as though it might matter, “Did Judy kiss me again?”  With the return of Judy’s glower, Nick widened that grin and tapped the right side of his snout, right behind the nose, to which the stouter fox’s ears burned a radiant red.

“Maybe I should smack you both,” Judy warned, threatening the back of her paw, “Anyway, I’m the godmother to Mr. Big’s grandchild because I saved his daughter’s life.  Now, Gid,” she continued in a professorial tone, “can you tell me why the suit is significant?”

“Oh,” he responded, returning to the topic at hand with his ears back and fingers twiddling, “Well now, let’s see…  Right, umm… Finnick was wearing one of Uncle John’s suits, so that means that… he prob’ly works for Mr. Big, now,” Gideon reasoned.

Nick continued, “Do you remember when I talked about the skunk butt rug, Bangs?  That’s what got me on Mr. Big’s naughty list, but it’s not as funny as I lead you to believe,” he sighed and watched as the town proper of Bunnyburrow loomed in sight, “It _was_ , at first, and Finnick opposed the whole thing from the start, which brings us to the last red flag: ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’.  He tells me that _only_ when he thinks I’m in danger, and from the sounds of it, his information came from the darknet itself and all that entails,” he huffed quietly, “It seems I’ve brought you into this with me, Bangs… so for that, you have my deepest apologies.”

Gideon was silent as they pulled up to the first stoplight, but not for shock, simply clapping his knees and alternating from one palm to the next.  “At least you’re honest about it, Stretch, so thanks for letting me know,” he said after a long breath, “Like I keep saying, I’m not made of steel like you both, but you’re being patient with me and helping me get through this, which I’m super grateful for.  Truth be told, if it weren’t for you two, I’d be waltzing to my death tomorrow and none the wiser. At least now I know someone’s got my back.”

“Hey,” Judy grinned, “if we foxes don’t look out for each other, who will, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return, brave ones, to younger years  
> But roll forward time's whims'cal gears  
> To a night that was meant for mirth  
> And find out how much trust is worth

**Back then...**

Tonight was the night.  Nicky’s mom Jackie had scraped together enough money for a brand new Junior Ranger Scouts uniform; not from a secondhand shop but ordered out of the catalog, fresh from the packaging, delivered to their doorstep in the Conifer District.  She was busy all the time to buy that uniform and Nicky helped out every chance he could, whenever he could; whether it was washing dishes, or vacuuming, or sweeping, things she wouldn’t have to do herself. They worked together to get that uniform.  Nicky and his dad John found a Junior Ranger Scouts handbook at a used-book store. Together, they went through the handbook page-by-page, reading about how to tie knots, the safe plants in the wilderness, dressing wounds, and the importance of helping out in the community.  He would be ready for  _ any _ thing the JRS threw at him; he was pretty much  _ born _ ready.

Tonight was the night.  Nicky was off down the street, sometimes running and sometimes jogging, careful to only take the shortcuts that wouldn’t mess up his uniform.  He turned the corner and spotted the red fire hydrant, and then the stone steps leading up to where Troop 914 held their meetings. And there, up in the darkening sky Nicky’s keen, green eyes spotted something that lifted his spirits even  _ higher _ , so much so it gripped him in wonder.  He saw a pair of shooting stars cross in the sky and knew what he had to do.  Nicky crossed his fingers and closed his eyes, wishing with all his heart that he would be trusted.  There, that sealed the deal. Maybe prey gave him sideways glances as parents held their kids a little closer when he and  _ his _ parents walked by, but all that ended tonight.  Even though he practically ran all the way from home, he vaulted up the steps to join his new friends.

Tonight was the night.  Nicky bolted out of the meeting mere minutes after he ran in, but instead of a hat, he wore a muzzle.  The other kids shined a bright light in his sensitive eyes and pinned him down, even though he took the oath to be trustworthy because they couldn’t trust a fox without a muzzle.  They said so themselves. Shocked and scared, he yanked it off to throw it away with all his strength, but then huddled beside the stone steps beneath the glowing marquee sign and wept.  What did he do? What did he do to deserve their hatred? He worked hard to get that uniform. He learned the handbook cover-to-cover. He delivered the oath. He  _ wished _ for it.  What more  _ could _ he do to earn their trust?

Could he not  _ be _ trusted?  Nicky looked up at the sky where the falling stars had been and pleaded in silence for an answer, but silence was all the answer he got.  He couldn’t sit there all night, so Nicky picked himself up and looked about, first up the stairs; the laughing prey kids were probably still down in that room, reveling in their victory.  He then looked to the muzzle sitting on the sidewalk, the metal cage that held his snout was pointed at him, leering at him, mocking him, “Who could trust a  _ fox _ ?” it seemed to scoff.  Nicky gave it a wide berth and scampered back home.

His tears had dried by the time he got to his back door, taking the shortcuts he knew would get him home faster, even if it meant his uniform got a bit dirty.  A small paw hovered over the doorknob leading to the kitchen, frozen in place when he heard his parents talking inside. Nicky leaned in and carefully put his ear to the door…

“I must admit, it’s a surprise to see you on such short notice, Chester,” said Mom, “Tea?”

“Extraordinary circumstances, Jackie, and please,” said someone important sounding, who Nicky could only guess was “Chester”, “There are more than a few clients positively  _ eager _ to see John here out from under that doddering old tailor.”

“Cut him some slack, Chess, I hear he was stellar back in his prime,” said Dad, “and he kept saying I was his favorite apprentice so he might’ve left me the shop when he kicked the bucket.”

“Which, as with most of his work, he’s taking his sweet time doing,” Chester said with a dark but jolly chuckle, “Out of curiosity, John, are you decided on a name for your new shop?  I find it helps quicken this whole, dreadfully  _ dull _ process,” and then there was a rustling of papers.

Nicky knew he did, he talked about it since forever, and always seemed happier when he did because his voice would get high and he’d hold out his palms with his fingers spread in all directions, and then he’d stare off into space, “ Suitopia ,” Dad would say, and did say to Chester, earning another jolly chuckle.

“Oh, Nicky’s going to be  _ so _ happy when he hears about this,” said Mom, and Nicky felt a weight on his heart like when she caught him sneaking cookies or when he broke her favorite dish.

“Yes, how  _ is _ young Mr. Wilde?” asked Chester, “Do you suppose he might follow you as a tailor?  Bright, young kit like him could stitch circles around you in  _ no _ time.”

“Whether it’s in tailoring or not, that kit’s got a bright future,” answered Dad, “He joined the Junior Ranger Scouts today, and you should’ve seen him, Chess, a  _ fox _ in uniform!  We took a photo, of course, something as historic as  _ that _ needs documentation.  Now, I’ll be the first to admit I had my concerns, but as soon as I saw Nicky standing tall and proud… it felt like a shining moment for foxes everywhere.  Nicky’s got big things waiting for him, and I can’t  _ wait  _ to see what he does.”

Nicky’s heart weighed heavier still and bit his lip to keep back the tears.  How could he  _ do _ this to them, to come back distrusted?  They worked so hard for everything, for the uniform he wore and to get him into the troop in the first place, and then he  _ failed _ .  How could he let them down like that?  How could he ruin his Dad’s dream-come-true by telling them he was untrustworthy?  When the phone rang and Mom excused herself to answer it, Nicky turned away from the door and back out into the yard, wiping any welling tears before he stopped, and glared down at his feet.

No.  That’s wrong.  Nicky  _ could _ be trusted, maybe not by  _ that _ troop, but maybe there was a troop out there that  _ would _ trust him.  It said “Troop 914” on the sign, so that means there had to be nine-hundred-and-thirteen  _ other _ troops he could try.  Maybe those  _ jerks _ only saw him as some shifty fox, but they were  _ wrong _ , and the first thing he would do is march back there and get his hat back.  And! And he would grab the… the  _ muzzle _ , too, and show it to Mom and Dad.  And then they would tell the prey parents, and then they could tell the police, and it wouldn’t be tattling because muzzles are really,  _ really _ bad.  Yeah, that’ll show them.  He’ll go back without crying, chin up, ears forward, tail out, just like Dad.  Like Mr. Foxglove. Like Grandpa Pib. He’ll show them they can’t get to Nicholas Piberius Wilde.

Back at the JRS meeting place, with the stone steps next to the red fire hydrant, the muzzle was nowhere to be seen no matter how much Nicky looked.  They must’ve gotten it back after he left, which means if he confronted them, they would only put it on him again. Nicky shivered and shook his head… he wouldn’t let them do that.  He still needed his hat, though, so maybe he could sneak in and grab it; he was very good at sneaking, after all. Moving as quietly as he could, the kit tiptoed up the steps and through the doors, creeping along the wall to the stairway leading down into the meeting room.  He could hear their voices as he peeked around the corner, the fur going up on his nape.

Nicky slid forward, but halted when he saw something sitting on the next-highest step, out of immediate view from the building’s hallway: it was his hat inside of a zipper-locked freezer bag with the biohazard symbol drawn on in marker.  He picked it up, frowning and pursing his lips as its meaning dawned on him. His eyes jolted from crestfallen to indignant when he heard hushed snickers beyond the stairs and spotted one of them ducking back around a corner. When he ripped the bag open to secure the hat on his head, he shouted “Don’t forget to quarantine the room!” at them, tail puffing, and then nodded with a confident smirk before striding back outside.

When he returned to the sidewalk, Nicky’s tail drooped because it still felt like he couldn’t earn their trust, especially not after all  _ that _ .  And  _ maybe _ he could find another troop, but not without his parents.  And what would he tell them? Mom and Dad would believe him about what happened, but without the muzzle, who would believe  _ them _ ?  Definitely not those  _ jerks _ ’ parents.  Nicky removed his hat and ran a paw through the red fuzz, his mind a beehive of doubts.  Maybe he should go see Finnick because they could talk about anything; he was his best friend, after all.  Besides, Mr. Chester would be at his house for a while because adult visits were always long and boring, and so long as he was home before the fog rolled in, he wouldn’t get in trouble for being out too late.

 

* * *

 

Back towards home he went but taking an alternate route that led him to the apartments where Finnick lived.  His tiny claws, though certainly not a cat’s claws, were sharp enough to get him up a tree and over to his best friend’s window.  As expected, the glass pane was closed since Mr. Faire’s voice carried and they got complaints from the neighbors about it. Nicky straddled the branch (ignoring any scuffs on the shorts of his uniform; they’re meant for outdoor stuff anyway, right?) and crawled along until he was close enough for a practiced leap to the wide ledge right outside Finnick’s window.  Holding onto an eave, he lightly scratched at the glass to get his best friend’s attention.

The fennec fox lifted his head from counting the pennies and nickels he found that day.  Finnick was always good with numbers, one of the best students in the school even, and  _ always _ helped Nicky with his math homework (which showed on Nicky’s report card).  Finnick slid from his chair and scurried over to the window, unlatching it and sliding it up with aid.  “Hi Nicky, what are you doing here?” he asked in his soft voice, but still happy for the visit, “What about the scout meeting?”

The red fox slipped in, quiet as could be, and closed the window behind him, “Hiya Finnick,” he beamed, also whispering, “The scout meeting was…” paused, and rubbed at his neck, averting his eyes from his best friend’s expectant face, “it wasn’t good.”  Nicky hopped up onto Finnick’s bed, the fennec to follow, and put his cheeks in his palms, “They didn’t trust me because I’m a fox. How can I tell Mom and Dad that I’m untrustworthy?”

“But… you and your mom worked so hard for that uniform,” Finnick said, looking it over, “What happened?”

Nicky didn’t answer immediately, rather he covered his face and his shoulders shook with young, rattled composure, “They put me in a… in a  _ muzzle _ , Finnick, like I was a bad pred…” his head then lifted, eyes wide with terror, “I can’t tell my parents that I was in a muzzle, or else they’ll send me to see Dr. Lapis!  That’s… that’s where bad preds go!”

“I thought Dr. Lapis  _ helped _ , like Mrs. Foxglove?” Finnick worried.

“I  _ think _ so, but my Dad said that a sly fox would  _ never _ need to go see her,” he whimpered, breathing through his nose before shaking his head, “So, I… I  _ won’t _ tell my parents…” Nicky hesitated, and then gulped to add, “Not until I can be trusted, because they don’t send  _ good _ preds to Dr. Lapis, right?”

“What are you going to  _ do _ , Nicky?” asked Finnick, “You’re not going to-” but he dared not say it too loud, “ _ lie _ , are you?”

Nicky gawked at his best friend, and then pulled his knees up to his chin to curl his tail about the ankles.  What  _ was _ he going to do?  If he told his parents what  _ really _ happened, they would send him to see Dr. Lapis for sure, but if he didn’t… if he  _ lied _ to them?  Only  _ baby _ kits did that before they knew better than to lie to another fox, or to keep secrets from family.  Either way, Nicky felt more and more untrustworthy, “I…” he began to sob, forgetting to whisper, “maybe if I…”

“Oscar!” boomed Mr. Faire’s voice.  Nicky knew his best friend’s  _ real _ name, of course, but also knew why he wanted others to call him “Finnick”, because whenever Mr. Faire called for his son it was always in that loud, angry voice, “Who all’s up there!”  Nicky quickly wiped his face and dashed for the window, he and the fennec trying to unlatch it but it stuck. The bedroom door flew open, clattering against the wall, and there stood a fox that, granted, was only a little shorter than Nicky, but was much,  _ much _ meaner.  Shane Faire, a fennec with slightly darker fur than his son and missing a piece of the right ear, stood in an undershirt and a pair of slacks with the suspenders hanging around his hips.  Shane caught sight of the red fox, “Oh, Nicky,” he pointed out, and then he seemed to notice the JRS uniform as he leaned against the doorframe, “Whatcha doin’  _ here _ ?”

“H-Hi Mr. Faire,” said Nicky in a forced smile, turning to face the older fox and putting his paws behind his back respectfully, “I, umm… came to talk with Finnick after the scout meeting, to tell him about it.”

Shane scratched his cheek, unconvinced, “Came to  _ gloat _ , you mean,” he scoffed, and continued in a grumble, “You come in here with that fancy-schmancy getup like you’re  _ special _ .  Head full of ideas that a buncha prey will  _ trust  _ you.  A  _ fox _ .  Yet you can’t even come up through the front door, no, you sneak in through the window, don’t ya’,” and leered, “Even tried to sneak out again, thinking I wouldn’t hear.”  Nicky’s eyes, ears, and tail fell, paws folding in front of him, “Maybe I should give John and Jackie a call,” he threatened, no longer leaning on the doorframe as he jabbed a finger, “Tell them that all the hard work they put into some  _ fool  _ dream went to waste.”

“No!” cried Nicky and clapped his paws together, “ _ Please _ , Mr. Faire, don’t-!”

“Don’t  _ what _ , Nicky?” he barked, voice rising again, “Tell ‘em that their kit can’t be trusted,  _ especially _ by them?  That he whined and begged to buddy up with prey only to chicken out at the last minute?  I gotta admit, Nicky, it’s a mighty fine  _ scam _ you had going, coming across all-”

“They put him in a muzzle!” yelled Finnick, paws balled into fists, staring at his dad with tear-welled eyes, “He tried to join them but they treated him like a bad pred!”  Shane reeled at the news, but perhaps more at the raised voice of his son, “They were going to send him to Dr. Lapis,” the younger fennec whimpered, “Just like they’re going to do to  _ you _ .”  Finnick was scared, though, not angry, and wiped his eyes with his wrist, voice going soft again, yet in the palpable silence it was unbearably loud, “I heard the neighbors talking,” he choked, “It’s because you’re always angry, always yelling, but it’s okay, Dad, because Dr. Lapis can make you  _ better _ .”  And then he was even quieter, “Nicky’s not a bad pred, though, so he doesn’t need to see her…”  Nicky, though he did not move, was behind Finnick, protected by him, it felt, even though he looked and, indeed,  _ acted _ the role of a big brother, the fennec was actually the older fox of the two, and it was in such rare times that it really showed.

Mr. Faire gawked, jaw swaying as he tried to speak, looking back and forth between the two kits, “Where did you hear that name?” he finally said, taking a step forward, “Where!” and tried to yell, but it caught in his throat.

“We heard her name at school,” Nicky weakly reported, “My Dad says Dr. Cleopatra Lapis makes bad preds  _ good _ , but-”

“No!” said Shane, quick-stepping forward until he could grab both of their shoulders, talking quietly as if someone was around to hear, his own long ears swiveling to ensure that no one  _ had _ , “No no no, kits, listen, you don’t  _ ever _ say her name out loud; never!”  He tried to sound assuring, but he was trembling from ears to tail.  “Oscar,” he said quietly, and cupped his son’s cheeks in both paws, “Who, who did you hear say that they were going to take me to see her?”

Finnick grabbed his father’s wrists, “It’ll be okay, Dad, she’ll make you better!”

“No!” Shane said again, “Preds that come back from her aren’t ‘better’, they’re  _ broken _ !  Everything that made them who they are is ripped out of them, leaving only scared, blank faces,” he whispered, and clenched his jaw, thumb brushing the younger fennec’s cheek, “I’m… I’m sorry I yell so much, Oscar, I really,  _ really  _ am, but it’s so hard without your mother… she… she made me right.  Whenever I wake up and I remember that she’s gone, it makes me so mad…”

“It’s hard for me, too, Dad; I want Mommy back everyday…” Finnick sniffed, looking up into the pained, dawning realization on his father’s face, “I don’t want them to take you, but you  _ need _ to get better.  Please?”

“O-Okay, Oscar,” he said and tried to smile, “I promise to get better, but you let me know if any of the neighbors start talking about… about  _ her _ again, alright?  That’ll tell me that I’m being too loud again, okay?”

“Okay…” whimpered Finnick, but he did sound, at least, a  _ little _ bit hopeful, and slipped from his father’s paws to grab around his chest and hug with all his might.

Shane held his son, the fear in his eyes quite vivid.  He glanced over to Nicky and seemed to remember that he was standing there, cleared his throat, and patted the younger fennec’s head, “ _ Umm… _ I’m sorry that you… about,  _ umm… _ ” he coughed, and scratched at his own nape, “Listen, Nicky, you’re a good kit, a good  _ pred _ , and… trying to get into the Juniors… it’s not nothing.  It’s terrible that they muzzled you, but… that’s what prey  _ do _ ,” he said, and put an arm around Finnick’s shoulders, “They’re scared of us pred, of  _ foxes _ , but they outnumber us, too, so…  Just trying to get them to trust you, it’s pretty brave.  Braver than I could be. Listen, Nicky, do you… umm… do you want some crackers?  We’ve got some peanut butter crackers if you want some.”

Nicky rubbed his arm, but uncurled his tail from around his legs, “Okay,” he finally said, “Thanks, Mr. Faire.”

“Alright, you two wait here, I’ll go get those crackers,” said Shane, once more trying to smile, and turned to double-time out of the room, leaving the kits in… well, maybe not a  _ worse _ state than before, but certainly not  _ better _ , either.

“Hey Finnick,” Nicky finally said after they sat down on the bed again, but this time cross-legged and not so near the edge, a subtle sparkle in his eye as he thought of something especially clever, “If I made my own troop in the Junior Ranger Scouts, would you join it?”

“Your own troop?” doubted a curious Finnick.

“Yeah,” Nicky said, softly smiling, “I mean, I can’t be part of Troop 914, but maybe it can be a troop of just the two of us?”

“But I don’t have a uniform…”

“That’s okay because, in  _ my _ troop, you can use whatever you got,” he said, gaining a bit of smugness at the idea rolling about in his head, “It’ll be a  _ pred _ troop, but prey can join, too.”

“Will your Mom and Dad be okay with that?  What will you tell them?”

Nicky hummed and pondered this, “We’ll need an adult to make the troop, won’t we, and I can’t tell Mom and Dad, yet, not until I can show that I  _ can _ be trusted by prey, or else they’ll send me to…” and he leaned in to whisper, “You-Know-Who,” and then spoke normally again, “Dad must not know she’s actually  _ bad _ .  But… if she’s not nice, then she might not be a bunny at all, she might be someone  _ big _ and  _ scary _ ,” the red fox thought, “How else could she break preds?”

The sandy-furred ears twitched, “Oh, Dad’s coming!”

And a minute later, Mr. Faire returned through the door, wearing his suspenders and carrying a tray piled up with peanut butter crackers and two tall glasses of milk, “We’ve only got almond milk, if that’s okay?” he said, and put the tray down on the bed between the kits.  He took a step back with a smile as they said their thanks, seeming in higher spirits than when he left. “Hey, Nicky, listen, about all that you heard… I’d be grateful if you didn’t say  _ too _ much to your parents about it.”

“Okay, Mr. Faire,” said the red fox through a mouthful of cracker.

The older fennec nodded with a sigh of relief, “They’re good foxes, John and Jackie, and I’ll tell them myself, but I’m not quite… not quite  _ ready  _ to say anything, as of yet,” he explained, and pulled over his son’s desk chair to sit nearby, “I guess the Juniors -- since they put you in a muzzle -- won’t be working out for ya’,” he said apologetically, but quickly added, “But if you need time to tell your parents about it, you can come over here instead of the meetings.  How’s that sound?”

“Really?” beamed Nicky.

“Yeah!” beamed Shane, scooting forward on the chair a bit, “If, of course,  _ you  _ don’t mind, Oscar?”  When his son gave an affirmed shake of his head, the older fennec continued, “But you have to promise me that you  _ will _ tell your parents, because foxes don’t keep secrets from each other without good reason or for too long, and right now, you need to get this whole…  _ Juniors _ thing figured out.  And I promise I’ll tell your parents about what’s happening with me, I just need…  _ time _ is all.”

“I promise, Mr. Faire,” Nicky said, grinned, and then put up the Junior Ranger Scout’s sign, “Scout’s honor.”

 

**Nowadays...**

Nick navigated the small town roads toward the sheriff’s office, accepting directions as needed until pulling into a modest area designated for parking (“lot” would be too kind a term).  The buildings refrained from reaching higher than two stories (unless they were meant for smaller Bunnyburrow denizens), with the notable exception of the town hall, visible over the tops of surrounding structures.

“Hey Stretch, if it ain’t too impert’nent to ask, what happened with you and Finnick that you don’t keep score?” Gideon inquired as the vehicle came to a stop.

“Well,” Nick answered with a rolling shrug, killing the engine after a full and complete stop, and casually popping open the driver-side door, “It’s not something that happened  _ between _ us, as it’s something that happened  _ to _ us.”

Judy hopped out the other side, “I’ve not heard  _ any  _ species of mammal except foxes that ‘keep score’,” she stated, “Esther explained that it’s something kits learn as part of their bantering, but I always figured it went away at adulthood.”  Both Nick and Gideon gave her a bewildered glance, to which she responded, “ _ Does _ it ever go away?” and closed the van door.

“Careful, Carrots, dig much deeper and your fox rank will be more than ‘honorary’.  Two circumstances end a fox’s ‘score’,” Nick explained as he and Gideon walked around the vehicle to meet Judy at the back, “First, is a fox’s death.  Traditionally, when a fox buys the farm they are laid to rest on a funeral pyre -- I think it has something to do with the red color of our fur -- an attendee pays their respects by tossing into the blaze a bundle of bay leaves and a scrap of paper with a number tucked inside.”

“I’d say that the paper is that ‘score’, but why bay leaves?”

“Who knows?” laughed Nick, “Probably a plentiful token of convenience back in the day, and nothing more.”

“According to Ma, foxes counted out bay leaves for the pyre; tha’ the score, y’see, which  _ you _ kept for  _ them _ and burning it sends it with them to the great beyond.  Score can’t go up if they’s dead, after all.”

“Or down,” Judy suggested and then elaborated, “It can’t go up or down anymore since they’re dead.”  But her ears drooped as, once again, both foxes exchanged a bewildered, almost put-off expression, one more pitying than the other.

“Carrots,” Nick said as kindly as possible, taking a knee to rest a paw on her shoulder, “the score  _ never _ goes down; unless the fox keeping said score is an irrevocable jerk.”

“Or dumb,” said Gideon.

“Yes, or dumb,” agreed Nick, and clapped her shoulder, before standing upright again as the other fox busied himself with opening the back of the van, “Now then, circumstance number two: you don’t keep score of a fox that you are avowed to.”

“So… like mates, then?” Judy’s brow quirked.

“Mates; parent and child (since the latter could never possibly out-score ‘solely responsible for your existing’); or -- in my and Finnick’s case -- a life debt.  We rescued each other from certain doom many years ago and too many times to count, so we no longer keep score,” Nick said rather matter-of-factly and then grinned, “You are an honorary fox, Carrots, but we do not keep score for the same reason.”

“Oh,” she smiled, if bashfully, ears warming at the idea, “Well, that makes sense, since we did save each other’s lives… a  _ few _ times, in fact.  So, do  _ you _ two keep score?”

“Of course,” they said in unison.

The apt, synchronized response, admittedly, surprised her a bit, “But you’ve only known each other for a weekend?”

“Yes, and I’m already up to seventeen,” Nick boasted, examining his claws, “None too shabby, if I say so myself.”

“Yeah, but  _ I _ ’m at nine, more’n half,” huffed Gideon, yet it all seemed in notable, subtle playfulness that both amused and confused the resident rabbit.  The stouter fox shuffled the plasticwares around until he got that which he desired, and by the slump of his shoulders, he was all too aware of the weight one held over the other. He cracked open the plastic lid of one to confirm its contents but also treating it as if a giant spider was sealed inside.

The streets were quiet, and as far as Nick could see, empty, something a city-fox like him took immediate notice of; his keen night-eyes swept up and down the road, arms crossed in bemusement at how astonishingly vacant a small town could be.  “Maybe it’s the most recent threat on my life but am I the only one unsettled about this?” he asked aloud.

“About what?” asked Judy, ears scanning, due to his question.

“ _ This _ ,” he repeated with a broad gesture, “How can a town be so  _ quiet _ ?”

“Three reasons come to mind,” she said in some degree of relief, and counted them off with a finger for each, “Bunnyburrow hosts a lot of diurnal species; that’s number one.  Number two, there’s the pre-TBR party going on at the fairgrounds,” she pointed at the bright part of the sky with both fingers, a la Nick, “lots of noises and mammals over  _ there _ .  Finally, reason number three: it’s only ‘quiet’ because there aren’t a lot of the city-sounds out here, which I’m personally thankful for.”

“If you want nightlife, you’d best head over to Preds’ Corner,” Gideon solicited with a smile, tucking the plasticware under his arm, “There’s a weekly  Prowl & Howl I went to for a long while, but that’s more a luxury ever since the bakery opened up.  No regrets, though. I’m happy for my li’l bakery, and will be happier when I can get back to it.”

“And at long last, get  _ this _ behind us,” Nick flicked his wrist in derision at the whipped cream, “My entire weekend away from work was tragically spent doing it, when it could have easily been spent lounging about eating the divine cuisine of Bangs and watching bad television.”  Gideon smirked and scoffed to such an assessment.

“I’ll be happy to get all this sorted out,” sighed Judy as they made way to the lit doors of the Sheriff’s office, “We barely scratched the surface of the can-of-worms this opened, yet shouldn’t investigate too deeply for a host of reasons, but so long as we are vigilant to keep innocents out of harm’s way, I’d say we can count it a job well done.”

“My services are, as always, at your disposal, Carrots, but I  _ do  _ hope you are courteous enough to refrain from testing mysterious substances on yourself in the foreseeable future,” Nick ribbed.

“I’m never living that down, am I.”

“Not in a million years.”  Stepping forward, Nick pushed and held a door open for the other two.  Within, they walked up to the receptionist/dispatcher, an upright-sitting giraffe with a set of black, thick-framed eyeglasses perched on his long nose, cloven fingers typing at a keyboard some yards below his ceiling-mounted monitor.

“Good evening,” greeted Judy, waving up at the monitor-blocked face.

“I’ll be with you in a minute,” the giraffe replied succinctly, eyes never leaving the screen reflecting off his spectacles as he typed with a brisk, but unhurried pace.

“Did he mean a literal ‘minute’ or are we being polite?” Nick whispered over Gideon’s shoulder after some several seconds and was shushed with a reflexive grin.  “Okay, I’ll let the quiet town work its system, it’s not like I have anywhere to go,” he said under his breath, paws folded behind his back and rocking from heel-to-toe.

The giraffe reached up and guided the high monitor aside, “And what can I do for you?” he asked of them.  A glasses case was pulled into view and set on the high-rise counter of the desk, from which he drew a neatly folded microfiber cloth with one hoof while the other removed his glasses.  By the looks of it, his attention favored cleaning his eyewear.

“Heya Officer Legrand,” said Gideon, “Is Sheriff Longmare still in?”

“Hmm?” Legrand grunted in address to the question, “Oh, yes, she is.  Rachel and I are the only ones still in the building, what with everyone else working the fairgrounds.  You’d think with so high a spike in population, there’d be more activity, but no, it’s been quiet,” he specified, though no one asked.  “I don’t suppose those are organic almond clusters?” he inquired upon perceiving the plasticware, perhaps the first inkling of interest expressed in the short span of their meeting.

“Ah, no, this is… umm,” the stouter fox smiled in apology, rubbing the back of his head, “for the sheriff.”

“Ah, shame that,” sighed the giraffe, and returned his attention to cleaning.  He pulled out a small bottle and gave each lens a spritz before continuing, “Those little clusters would’ve made a wonderfully peaceful evening all the better.   _ C’est la vie _ ,” and shrugged his narrow shoulders with slow wiping movements of his thumb on the glasses.

“At least  _ our _ dispatcher is lovably eccentric,” Nick leaned in to whisper at Judy, who bit back a snicker and pushed his face away.

Legrand returned the glasses to the bridge of his nose and took a moment to look at a ceiling light, as though to inspect for any further smudges, and then grunted in dissatisfied acceptance.  The giraffe’s long neck bent down to study the taller fox, “And  _ you _ must be ‘Nick’,” he pointed out, “Rachel mentioned that you three were coming, although I assumed you’d be in sooner, considering that whole sundown stand-off at the bakery was hours ago.  She’s in the back, at the holding cells, down the hallway and hang a left. Hard to miss.” His neck curled further as he gripped a walkie-talkie at his shoulder, “Sheriff: Judy, Nick, and Gideon are finally here.  Over.”

“I’ll be right out,” came her voice, “Watch the cell.”

“Of course,” the dispatcher said, and with a gentle cough of static from the walkie-talkie, his eyes rolled divided attention to the screen once more, clicking at the touch-pad mouse.  “Years as a model citizen, and then out of the blue he shows up with firearms and runs  _ some _ one over with his car.  Whatever did you do to rile up Grav Hopps?” he asked after a moment of quiet of observation, although from the tone of his voice it sounded more a rhetorical question.

The three exchanged glances.

“Turned him down,” grinned Judy.

“Shocked him,” smirked Nick.

“Existed,” smiled Gideon.

Legrand looked at them bewildered, the only sincere emotion he expressed during their whole interaction.  The giraffe then pushed his glasses up from his nostrils to the bridge of his nose as Sheriff Longmare strode into view.

“Eyes on the cell, Legrand,” she reprimanded, an authoritative voice that rang like a church bell, to which the spotted, mammalian tower promptly responded with a “Yes, ma’am.”  She was of average height and build for a mare, broad in hip and strong of back with a long face of rugged elegance. Even her pelt was a weathered, steely gray speckled in waves of salt-&-pepper, but rather than give her an aged look, it analogized a complementing demeanor of maternal mercy and decisive justice.  The tight bun behind her head was surely a thick mane held firm, and though loose strands escaped they spoke of dedication to the job instead of any lackadaisical attitude.

“Sorry we’re so late, Rachel,” Judy apologized.

“Honestly, I was glad for the break,” she mused with a sighing smile, “Gid, it seems you’re finally in the center of a real investigation.”

“Lucky me,” the stouter fox chuckled.

“Nick Wilde,” grinned the taller fox, reaching up to grasp her offered hoof.

“Sheriff Rachel Longmare,” and then nodding over her shoulder, “You’ve already met Officer Legrand.  Since we’re the only ones here tonight, he’ll be taking your statements.”

“But who’ll watch the cell?” the giraffe wondered aloud, no attempt to hide his grain of salt.

“Close  ZooTube and you might have some attention to spare, Legrand.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded with some degree of indignation, and clicked on the touchpad to minimize the aforementioned browser window, “Whenever you’re all ready.”

“We want to report suspicious activity in regards to an event with the TBR, specifically, the pie-eating contest tomorrow,” Judy began, and gestured to the plasticware which Gideon held out, peeling back the plastic lid to show its contents, “This whipped cream is laced with a narcotic, which we believe to be a  _ midnicampum holicithias _ extract.”

“Gideon Grey unknowingly made the whipped cream with tainted supplies,” Nick continued in all due professionalism, “we believe this was done to sneak the Night Howler drug into the festival.  There’s a real problem with Night Howler pollen in the city right now, which Officer Hopps and I are directly involved with. Through my own, unwitting exposure, I can attest to the claim that this whipped cream is drugged.”

“You tasted it?” asked the sheriff.

“We both did,” Judy answered, “Either instance mirrored results of  _ midnicampum holicithias _ exposure.  As of now, neither of us suffer from any after effects, though.”

“The supplies for the whipped cream came from Tad Wooler,” Gideon chimed in, “I had some, too, but it wasn’t a lot, so it wasn’t as severe.”

“So, you’ve all tried this supposedly ‘drugged’ dessert, and yet no worse for the wear?” Legrand butt in.

“My heart stopped within seconds of ingestion,” Nick elaborated, “Were it not for Gideon’s quick CPR, I’d surely be dead.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’.  Get back to statementing, Legrand,” Officer Wilde directed.

Longmare snorted and smirked, stooping to receive the plastic container from the baker, “I’ll get this into evidence and run a drug test on it as soon as possible.  The lab tech is on that cruise with the rest of Preds’ Corner.”

“That means we won’t get the results until  _ Thursday _ ?” Gideon asked.

“It means we won’t get the results for another week, at the earliest,” Judy answered.

“Don’t worry, Gid,” Rachel assured, “We can send a sample to the city, and with any luck hear back before then.  If this was meant for tomorrow’s pie eating contest, then it’s not something we can let sit. Do you know if there’s any more?”

“It was unintentionally contaminated, and then cleaned out,” the bunny explained, pointing up to the plasticware, “What you’ve got there is all that’s left.”

“We spent yesterday making more for the contest,” sighed the baker with a smile, “Ms. Clarabelle was nice enough to supply the cream.”

“And  _ that _ whipped cream is safe?” asked the horse.

“Each of us tried  _ every _ bowlful, just to make sure,” Judy said.

“Thorough,” Rachel nickered, “Is there anything else you want to report before I get this gravy train rolling?”

“Actually,  _ yes _ ,” replied Nick, “we have a hunch that Grav Hopps is involved but we cannot say for certain  _ how _ ,” he pulled out the note with the receipt, “This doodle was found in the vat when Grav and Bo brought it to Gideon’s bakery, which matches the doodle on a receipt from a restaurant earlier today.”  He handed them both over to the sheriff by placing them on the closed plasticware.”

“We won’t be able to charge Grav with anything beyond what he did today, but I’ll enter this as evidence connected to the case,” Longmare explained, “If it all matches like you say it does, getting a warrant won’t be hard.  Did you get all that, Legrand?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied lethargically, and then looked over expectantly to her, a cloven hoof drifting towards the plasticware and paper, “Shall I process all this crucial evidence, then?”

“No,” she neighed and kept it out of his reach, “ _ I _ ’ll process it because  _ you _ ’ll take all night about it.  You stay here and keep an eye on Grav.”

The giraffe huffed in relenting annoyance and sank back into the chair, “Grab a  Nickers bar, because you’re a grouch when you’re hungry,” he said under his breath.

“I’ve had about enough of your lip, Legrand-” but she was interrupted by a bellowing growl from her stomach.  The horse breathed deep and tucked the container a bit closer as she continued calmly, “That changes  _ nothing _ because I’m still processing this evidence.”

“When was the last time you ate, Rachel?” Judy asked with audible concern.

“Do alfalfa chips count as food?” she answered with a shrug.

“Well, shoot, we’ve got some of Bonnie’s casserole out in the van,” offered Gideon with a grin, tossing a thumb over his shoulder, “If you both don’t mind, of course.”

“I’ve eaten it a hundred times before, and will eat it a hundred times again,” the bunny said amiably, “Unless Nick’s bottomless pit needs refilling.”

“I’m contented from an earlier sandwich,” the taller fox assured and turned to Rachel, “If you’re willing to accept some leftovers, freshly made tonight, as a sign of a good will.”

“Well…” she began, and when her stomach growled a bit quieter at the prospect of food, she sagged her shoulders, smiling as best she could, “Go get it; I’ll put it in the fridge.”

“Back in a jiff,” Gideon said with a sweep of his tail, heading back out to the street and the patiently waiting van.  Judy’s ear swiveled to follow him, keeping as casual as she dared with Finnick’s warning fresh in her mind, but so to not draw the sheriff’s experienced attention to any  _ further _ mischief looming over Gideon.

“Did you meet your grandpa at the hospital, Judy?” Rachel asked, leaning on the front desk as they waited for delivery of mother-made, three-bean nourishment.

“I did,” she smiled, “he told me all about his talk with Grav.  You were there, weren’t you?”

“I was, and I’m remembering that he mentioned the pie-eating contest.  Of course, I didn’t think anything of it until now,” she admitted, patting the plastic lid, “but with all this new light on the subject, I can’t help but feel some weight to it.”

“That’s what clued  _ me _ into his involvement,” Judy explained.

“And from there, we strung everything together one piece at a time,” Nick continued, “Whether he let slip crucial information intentionally or not is up for debate.  I’d rather refrain from crawling inside his head to find out,” he smirked, but then frowned as Judy’s ears and the fur on the nape of her neck stood at immediate attention, “Carrots?”

“I can hear Grav,” Judy answered, and addressed Legrand, “What’s he doing?”

“Hmm?” grunted the giraffe, but sat up when he made eye contact with the determined rabbit, “Oh!  Yes, let’s see,” and referenced the screen, “Grav is… leaning against the bars with his arms through them to cup his mouth.”

Judy frowned and rubbed at a temple, “He’s chanting my name,” she said, and then looked over her shoulder as Gideon re-entered with another plasticware tucked under his arm, “I think… I think he wants to talk,” and then shuddered with a deep, bristling inhale, but it only set her brow firmer as she touched a paw to her chest, “He just said to not ‘forget  _ my _ foxes’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oscar" is the grandson of Fionn mac Cumhall, according to legend, and "Shane" is based off the name of Fionn's son, "Oisín" or "Osheen" (who is Oscar's father, in turn).
> 
> "Nickers" is the Zootopian version of the "Snickers" bar.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peer back, brave ones, but steel your nerves  
> And judge for yourself what deserves  
> The time it takes for you to find  
> What is crucial and what's a blind

**Back then…**

Past the neighbor’s fenced-off yards and residential alleyways, Nicky raced the waning light in the sky and the fog nipping at his heels.  It was plenty dark for prey kids, but  _ pred _ kids got to stay out a little bit later thanks to their night vision, even so, the red fox pushed his luck to its limit being outdoors for so long.  He was a clever kit, though, and even if it might take him a little longer, Nicky returned home around the front door, since that would be the way he would come if returning from the Scout meeting (coming around to the kitchen the first time let him avoid notice), and even took a solid minute to brush away any dirt, leaves, twigs, and other such signs of dishevelment.

He vaulted up the steps to his front door, feeling lighter than air after getting some advice from Mr. Faire (he was practically family since Nicky and Finnick are best friends).  The clarifying run home cemented the idea that his parents would  _ never _ send him off to Dr. Lapis because it’s not what foxes did to each other, and that’s why they didn’t keep secret or tell lies; as Mom always said, “In the end, it  _ only  _ makes things worse”.  Standing on the paw print doormat, Nicky gave his footpads a quick wiping before he tried the handle.  Locked, as he knew it would be, he instead scratched his claws in a soft, vibrant flurry on the door’s wood to get his parents’ attention (his own special ‘knock’).

“Oh, that’s Nicky!” said Mom, almost audible through the door when he pressed his ear to it.  She sounded so happy, which meant it’d be easier to tell her what happened with the Junior Ranger Scouts -- it still gave him the shivers thinking about the muzzle they put him in…  The door opened to spill out hallway light, Nicky’s bright green eyes looking up to his Mom, “Welcome back, sweetie, we thought you dropped off the face of the planet,” she teased, stepping aside and ushering her kit inward with her tail while a paw caressed his smiling cheek.

“Heya, Kitto!” called Dad, leaning back in his chair to peer down the hallway to his scampering son.  “You missed all the fun and excitement of signing paperwork,” he laughed, leaning forward again so his chair sat squarely on the ground before Mom could say anything about it.

“Ah!” said a dark, jolly voice, which froze Nicky’s blood when he heard it; not because it was especially creepy (it  _ was _ creepy, but that’s not what froze the kit) but because it was there at all, “Young Mr.  _ Wilde _ , what an absolute delight to catch you,” said the unmistakable “Mr. Chester”, a wildcat larger than either Mom or Dad (but not by much), with an impossibly wide, albeit friendly grin.

This was bad.   _ Really _ bad.  Nicky didn’t know Mr. Chester, and didn’t know many wildcat families or how they dealt with sensitive matters, so could he tell his parents what happened, with Mr. Chester in the room?  Mom and Dad probably trusted him -- he was in their house and wearing one of Dad’s suits, after all (the kit could spot one anywhere) -- but could Nicky?

“Chess, I think you spooked him,” teased Dad, twirling a pen between his fingers as he pivoted in his seat to face Nicky.

“I’m not spooked, Dad,” Nicky denied, arms crossed and back straight, “‘Mr. Chess’ has me at a disadvantage, is all, since he knows so much about me but I know nothing about him,” and finished with a smirk.  Mom also crossed her arms but did not bushwhack her kit; after all, a fox in their own home was allowed some light banter, if for a guest.

The wildcat chuckled with a paw to his mouth (which did little to cover his grin), “He’s certainly yours, John,” and stood to address the kit with an extended paw as Dad shrugged with a proud smile, “Chester Vandersnatch, or ‘Chess’ if you like, an out _ stand _ ing pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Nicky Wilde, pleased to meet you, sir,” said Nicky, grasping the larger paw to shake it.  To this, Mom smiled in approval. He then looked over the table and the papers scattered across it.  The scene confused him because he  _ thought _ Mr. Chess came over to give Dad his new shop, and tilted his scout cap to scratch under it, wondering if he was mistaken about what the adults were visiting about.

“Nicky,” said Dad, inclining with his elbow on the table and his paw to a knee, glancing up as Mr. Chess took a seat, and then exchanging an eager smile with Mom, “D’you remember what I told you about  Suitopia ?”

“Of course, Dad, it’s gonna be your suit shop,” Nicky replied.

“Well, all of  _ this _ ,” he paused and waved his palm over the blanket of papers, “makes that dream a reality as of  _ tonight _ .”

“It  _ does _ ?” beamed the kit, and scurried to the table’s edge to attempt in some way to decipher the extraordinarily boring activities of adults, peeking under sheets of paper, moving them aside as though to look for whatever it was that made the shop real.  “How does it happen? Will it be open tomorrow? Where will it be?” he rattled off, as though the forms themselves would reveal their secrets the more questions he asked.

“Okay, my little Raspberry,” said Mom, a name for when he was being especially silly, and grabbed him under the arms to lift him from his feet enough to pull the kit away from the table, and promptly raspberried his neck (to a flailing shriek of merriment), “ _ You _ ’ve caused enough buggery for one night; to bed with you.”

“Now now, Jackie,” cooed Mr. Chess, “I would  _ never  _ object to so clever a youth as Nicky from growing curiouser and curiouser.”

“Besides, those answers are  _ long _ and  _ boring _ ,” groaned Dad, “It won’t be open tomorrow, but it’s in that old building right next to the  Frozen Fox ice cream joint.  How about  _ that _ , Nicky?  It’s only a few blocks from home!” he announced.

“On the contrary, John,” chuckled the wildcat, grinning ever wider, “Everything’s set to begin first thing in the morning, which is why it was so urgent I come over  _ tonight _ .”

“‘First thing’-?” gawked Dad.

“This is for  _ real _ ?” Nicky asked in awe.

“Now you're catching on,” purred Mr. Chess.

“All right.  Okay,” flustered Dad, recalling the multitudinous “first thing in the morning” responsibilities he was already tasked with at his current place of employment, “I'll have to quit my job.”

“It's done,” he assured, “You resigned this afternoon.”

“I did?”

“Yep,” Mr. Chess slyly affirmed, “Don't like to leave loose ends.”

“Um, my ‘apartment’,” he air-quoted, which was actually the bottom drawer of a larger mammal’s dresser in the crawlspace above the shop for when his workload extended into the wee hours of the morning; but it was a reliable place to sleep, even if it cost a pittance a night to ensure that it was still there when he needed it, “I have to give notice.”

“Taken care of.”

“My clothes?”

“Packed.”

“My books?”

“In storage,” dismissed Mr. Chess with an amiable flick of his wrist.

“My cat…” Dad continued to gawk as he sunk back into his seat.

Mr. Chess meowed bashfully and proudly.

“My gosh…” Mom agreed.

“Honestly,” the wildcat said, “you’ll be getting new inventory and bookkeeping as necessary so I wouldn’t worry  _ too _ much about all that.”

“Just  _ who _ are these clients, Chess?” Mom asked.

“I never get involved in politics, Jackie,” he answered, but grinned all the same, “However, they’re quite  _ mad _ to see John’s potential unfettered.”

“But Dad, you said you’d never want to make your clients  _ mad _ , right?” worried Nicky.

“Oh, you can’t help that,” chortled Mr. Chess, “most  _ every _ one’s mad here.”

Mom forced a laugh and gently cupped Nicky’s ears to promptly usher him from the kitchen, “ _ Funny _ , Chess, very.  Time for bed, Nicky, go get changed and I’ll be up shortly to tuck you in.”

“Oh, okay?” said a confused Nicky as his ears flicked, peering up as both Mom and Dad certainly  _ looked  _ mad at Mr. Chess, before turning down the hall.

“Hey now, young mister,” chided Dad, “Where do you think  _ you _ ’re going without kissing your father good night?”

“A  _ good _ night’s sleep,” responded the kit with a smirk, already on his way over to kiss his Dad’s chin (instead of his cheek, because the extra fuzz on Dad’s chin tickled his nose, and he always did it for as long as he could remember).

“Scamp,” Dad said as he smirked and kissed Nicky’s forehead.

The kit scurried up the stairs two at a time (but made sure to hit the squeaky one on the way up) and ducked to his bedroom, wherein he changed out from his treasured Junior Ranger Scouts uniform into his favorite pair of blue-polka-dotted pajamas (because they reminded him of blueberries).  The uniform was carefully hung up in his closet; if there was anything he learned from Dad about personal tidiness, it was the proper care and storage of clothes (his toys, books, and handicrafts were haphazardly strewn about, but  _ never  _ his clothes); Mom handled most everything else, habits which didn’t always stick with Nicky, but he did help with the laundry from time-to-time.

“I’ll tell them tomorrow,” Nicky said to himself, taking one last look at the uniform hanging in his closet, and closed the door.

Nicky went through the routine of dental hygiene and face-washing before he climbed into bed, pulling in his beloved patched-up pillow but leaving his covers untucked for Mom.  He loved Dad’s stories, and he  _ loved _ when Mom sang a lullaby.  They didn’t change much, but they didn’t need to because they always sounded so pretty.  However, Nicky was  _ so _ tired from the day that no sooner did he set his head back than he was soundly snoozing in his yet-tucked bed.  When Mom finally came up, she couldn’t bring herself to wake her kit and so quietly brought the covers up under his chin and kissed his cheek, whispering a “Good night” before turning off the light.

* * *

_ He awoke with a start, huffing and puffing as he looked about at the dark room.  Yawning, Nicky rubbed at his eyes… but found they weren’t there. He could see, but… he didn’t have eyes? _

_ His nose wasn’t there. _

_ His mouth wasn’t there. _

_ His fur wasn’t there. _

_ His whiskers weren’t there. _

_ His entire face was only cold, hard metal. _

_ He tried to scream, and he could hear his scream in his head but not in his ears. _

_ He tried to get up, but he was locked to the bed. _

_ A bright, white light came on, brighter than the sun, and even though he didn’t have eyes he could see this light.  He tried to cover his eyes with his paws or look away, but he was locked down everywhere. _

_ “Nicky…” came a spooky voice, and in the middle of the bright, white light was a small shadow -- a long-eared shadow -- and it got closer until he could see a kind grin and nice eyes, but it wasn’t anyone he knew, “Nicky… you’ve been a bad fox, haven’t you?” she said; definitely a “she”. _

_ “No!” he cried, and again he heard it in his head but not his ears, “I’m a good fox!  A good fox!” _

_ The shadow grew bigger and bigger, meaner and meaner, “Only bad foxes lie, Nicky, only bad foxes can’t be trusted,” she warned, and though the shadow was huge the bright, white light still hurt his eyes, “You’re a bad fox.  A bad fox! Bad fox! Bad! Fox!” _

Nicky screamed, and he heard it this time, so he screamed again just to make sure, and then he cried and whined, grabbing at his face to find his eyes, and nose, and mouth, and whiskers, holding his furry, face-covered head as he sobbed.  It was still dark, very dark, but then his bedroom door flew open and the dim nightlight flicked on.

“Nicky!” called Mom and Dad, both in their pajamas, not even their bathrobes, Dad stalking around the room to determine if anything was amiss while Mom leaped onto the bed to hold their kit.  “Sweetie, sweetie, it’s okay, we’re here,” she cooed, cradling his sobs to her bosom and his seat to her lap, her own legs up on the bed as he curled as close possible.

Dad soon joined her when he determined that the room was safe, and they shared expression of deep dread.  “It was only a bad dream, Nicky,” he assured, caressing the back of his son’s head, “you’re safe now, and we won’t let anything hurt you.”  The kit whimpered but trembled still. “Do you want me to tell you a tale?” he proposed, but got another whimper, this time with a soft shake of the head.

“Do you want me to sing you a song?” Mom offered, and got another whimper, but this time with a soft nod.  Dad’s stories were good for happy times, but Mom’s lullabies were best for sad times. “Alright, my little Blueberry,” she said, her name for him when she was especially proud of him or needed to calm him down, “It’ll be a bedtime song, so you’ll need to cry a little softer so you can hear it, okay?”  With a sniff and a settling affirmation, Nicky was turned about in her lap so that he was still against her, but also facing his Dad as he reached one arm around Mom, and the other arm lay across them both…

_ Lee-la-dee, lee-la-dee, lee-de-diddy-dee-doo _

_ Join me, my love, on an adventure for two _

_ With derring and doing for hearts strong and true _

_ Come with me, my love, and join in my tale _

_ We’ll climb ev’ry mountain, and trek ev’ry vale _

_ At land’s end, my love, we’ll grab ship and set sail _

_ To other adventures that await o’er the sea _

_ It’s all for you, love, if you would come with me, _

_ Loo-da-doo, loo-da-doo, oo-de-lally-loo-lee _

 

**Nowadays…**

Presently, Nick let no concern show through his stoic nonchalance beyond an inquisitively arching brow, not when in the company of new faces, an especially stalwart bunny, and a fellow fox who undoubtedly looked to him for emotional fortitude (after two nervous breakdowns in the same day, Gideon simply couldn’t afford to lose face publically, lest risking the revocation of his fox card).  Several points of interest vied for attention like text messages in a movie theater, however, namely, the fact that his partner in law, Judy -- despite her biological rabbit-ness -- blazed with an intangible aura of justice far above her usual fare; there were wrongs to right and the unseen lodestone of cosmic correction ushered her to exactly where she needed to be to do so. Running parallel-and-opposite to Judy’s foolhardy yet commendable heroism was Grav, another bunny proving themselves an outlier to the norm of their species by antagonizing known officers of the law from inside a jail cell, and while such in of itself warranted amusement on Nick’s part, it was not what jumped out at him so readily.  Rather, it was the curious feat that two rabbits down the hall from each other -- by simple virtue of their uncanny aural acuteness -- could carry on a conversation that, from the perspective of anyone within earshot of either bunny, sounded not only one-sided but borderline schizophrenic.

Perhaps it was not  _ too _ great a surprise to Nick how radically a rabbit’s ears set them apart from other mammals, after all, Zootopia was filled to the brim with such feats considered commonplace to one species yet supernal to another.  By his own experience, foxes that worked closely together developed a mutual sense of coordinated intent and endeavor (a factor exaggerated by  The Many Adventures of Mr. & Mrs. Foxglove , a pair of mated secret agents that provided those in the fox community with what amounts to their own “superheroes”) which witnesses describe as “spontaneous choreography”, “preternatural synchronicity”, or in the lay vernacular, “crazy luck”.  It was no further great surprise, upon new information in the recent evening, that Grav might have honed this particular aspect of rabbit acuteness to develop -- as Judy, Gideon, and Nick came to suspect based on a “coincidental” meeting with Bo earlier that afternoon -- something of a  _ spy network  _ comprised of bunnies dedicated to snooping on conversations and communicating back to Grav himself (once the information is learned, a simple text message would no doubt suffice to relay juicy nuggets of gossip or threats of meddling).

“Rest assured, your foxes are  _ right _ behind you,” said Nick in a low, easy tone, earning for his quip Judy’s smirking glance and a solid thumbs-up, to which either city-based officer addressed the rural civilian Gideon; Gideon frowned, but gave the most confident thumbs-up available in the permitting circumstances.  “Can he hear me right now?” the taller fox asked of the rabbit.

“Most likely,” Judy answered before pausing with hip-anchored paws, “And now he’s bragging that he can hear Gid’s quickened heartbeat.   _ Bragging _ , says I,” she asserted with a raised finger of dictation, paused again to thump a foot, and then pointed down the hallway, “Don’t tempt me, because I  _ might _ just do that!”

“Carrots, you’re worrying the local authorities,” Nick whispered, glancing up at an unamused Sheriff Longmare, and then dared a small grin, “Oh look, her nostrils flare out  _ exactly _ Bogo’s.”

Indeed, it looked like one could hit a golf ball straight up her nasal cavity.  Regardless, she kindly accepted the leftovers from Gideon, breathing in that subtle smell of homely cooking from Bonnie’s kitchen, and stacked it on top of the identical plasticware housing the toxic substance which started the weekend’s whole mess of problems.  “You’re in luck, Legrand,” said the stern horse, a heavy hoof setting both plastic containers on the giraffe’s dispatcher desk, and then pointing her stony appendage to the top and then the bottom, “Nuke this one for three minutes, and process  _ that _ one as evidence, make sure to expedite it,” Rachel instructed in a patient, maternal tone, until the sheriff in her spoke, “And if you mix them up, so help me, I will melt down your badge into a figurine of me kicking your tail!”

“Y-yes, ma’am!” reeled the giraffe, standing up a bit too quickly to collide with the ceiling (it looked like he was otherwise in the habit of crouching through average-height buildings, a frequent but unavoidable societal nuance for giraffes outside of their own community) but was cushioned by an overhead pillow, another species-specific workplace accessory for the extraordinarily tall.

“Sit  _ down _ ,” she sighed, “Process it at your desk first, and  _ then _ put it in the evidence locker after you upload the information onto the precinct server, but make sure you set the microwave with my dinner on your way to the locker.  If you’re timely, you’ll finish when the microwave does.” After a solid beat to ensure that Legrand was getting right on it, she waved the three smaller mammals with her down the hall, “Alright, let’s see what Mr. Hopps has to say for himself, and let me know if he makes any more snide comments,” she requested of Judy, “I’ve got plenty of scolding to go around.”

“You don’t think you were a bit harsh with him?” Judy asked, looking over her shoulder at a busied giraffe

“Nah,” she neighed, “He’s a smart kid, just needs direction, is all,” and from her smile turned a professional grimace, “Cards on the table, guys, Grav has absolutely  _ no _ prior history of anything like this, not even a parking ticket or an overdue library book, so this tells me he’s either some kind of high-functioning sociopath, or covering for someone.”

The rabbit’s ears twitched.  “He says you’re ‘not wrong’,” she reported, and then frowned with a quick skip to close the distance between herself and the doorway leading to the holding cells, “I’m  _ not _ telling her that!” Judy chastised, leaning around the corner.

“But it’s a compliment!” the others heard him say when they stepped up.  There was Grav, leaning on the bars of his cell, paws hanging lazily with no attempts to hide at how smug he felt.  When they all approached, he raised a paw and wiggled his fingers in greeting, shifting fluidly to a polite, perky individual, again in blatant transition.  “Well  _ howdy _ , friends!  If I knew I was having company, I would’ve spruced the place up a bit, put out some lemonade, slipped into something a little more…” and knocked on one of the bars, “comfortable.

“Now, you’re probably wondering why I called you all here this evening, and I’ll be honest,” he laughed, “I was wondering that myself.  The long and short of it is, I was just trying to have a civil talk with my bestest buddy here,” and gestured to Judy, “When she decided to bring you lot along.  But, now that you’re here, I’ll have to make do. So!” he grinned and propped his elbows up against a horizontal bar to rest his cheeks in his palms, “What say we open things up with some questions?  Anything goes, no holds,” and winked, “ _ bar _ red.”

Sheriff Longmare stood the closest (by a small margin of Judy standing one pace nearer and holding her hips), arms crossed over her chest as she stared down at him, “Cut the custard, Mr. Hopps, you heard everything that was said in this office as soon as you stepped through those doors, but let’s focus on your involvement with the TBR, and  _ why _ you were so ‘sad’ that you couldn’t attend the pie-eating contest.  What were you expecting to happen?”

He didn’t answer immediately, or in any appreciable amount of time, only sliding back into a pretentious state as his eyes, as they always were, remained on Judy.  When he  _ did _ answer, there was no audible talking, only moving lips and rasping.  This, interestingly, arched the brows of Nick and Judy in quite the opposite directions, hers in disgust and his in intrigue.

“I’m afraid my bunny-speak is heavily accented with logic,” Nick swiftly said, turning to address Rachel while also gaining the attention of those outside the jail cell, “but unless I’m mistaken, he said ‘you can go soak your head and leave it to those of us that matter’.  A little cryptic, but roughly translated I  _ think _ he wants to speak with us alone, or else he’ll lawyer up.”

Rachel’s nostrils flared anew, but her hooves went to her hips with a flick of her tail, “Think you city-cops can handle one little troublemaker?” she poised.

“We’ve got this covered,” assured Judy in her archetypal determination.

The horse’s ears perked at the telltale beeping of microwave buttons, “Guess I’ll go reduce the chances of biting someone’s head off, then.  Holler if you need anything, officers; toilet’s further down and on the right.” With a final nod of mutual understanding from both Hopps and Wilde, Longmare glanced to the delinquent before exiting through the door and out of sight.

“I didn’t know you spoke bunny,” Gideon hushed, leaning towards Nick to do so and even putting a paw up to his mouth, under the false impression that it would keep what he said unheard.

“He reads lips,” Judy explained, “but that’s  _ not _ what was said, was it Slick?”

“What  _ was _ said was uncouth, demeaning, and -- from the little I know of her -- Rachel doesn’t deserve that kind of shabby treatment,” Nick elaborated in a low but otherwise normal, conversational tone, mainly to Gideon, “Time is of the essence, because I’d bet my tail we have until Longmare finishes that casserole to get what information we can out of  _ Psycho, Jr.  _ over there before he calls in daddy’s team of attorneys, and more likely than not, ends this investigation before it starts.

“So!” Nick continued, turning on a heel to directly address the eavesdropping butterscotch rabbit with dark coffee spots running up the back of his head and ears, “Mr. Hopps,  _ Hopps _ y, The  _ Hopps _ ter, Lord  _ Hopps _ ington,” he prattled on, smiling and gesturing wide before clasping both paws behind his back, “I think we got off on the wrong foot today.”

“You’re dead set on annoying me,” Grav immediately said with a self-important smirk.

“Oh, I’m already there,” replied Nick, leaning forward, “ _ this _ is shooting the breeze.”

“ _ This _ is a waste of your time, fox,” and gestured with a lazy waggle of his finger, “and the clock’s counting down to my boredom; tick tock, tick tock.”

Nick shrugged and rolled his eyes to prompt Gideon in a double-team fake-out… only to find his distracted cousin sniffing at the air, and so continued on his own, “Really, Greg, as if I needed any important information out of  _ you _ .  Mommy and Daddy already told me everything I needed to know.  It was written all over their faces, plain as day, and let’s be honest, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he said, and then smirked, “I came around to find out how you’re still standing after taking a fox-taser to the groin less than twelve hours ago.”

Grav’s ears twitched, glancing first to Nick, and then to Judy, and back to Nick -- all the room’s denizens he thought worth looking at.  “It’s ‘Grav’, not ‘Greg’, but points for trying, I understand that monosyllabic names can be troubling for your ilk. So, about those questions that you’re all  _ dying _ to ask me…?”

“Why Gideon?” Judy immediately asked, arms crossed as she interposed herself between the two.  Her own keen ears could hear all that happened in the break room down the hall, and it impressed the importance of succinct interrogation.

“Convenience, mostly,” he replied, still grinning as he leaned on the bars, looking directly into her eyes, “First fox at the TBR?  Can’t let  _ that _ slide.  Messages need sending to all those bone-gnawers out there, big and small, that a fox will  _ not _ be suffered… unless they, themselves,  _ suffer _ .”

“Oh, what a  _ lie _ ,” Nick said under his breath.  Ever since Judy first heard Grav’s distinctive vocals as only a bunny could, it became clearer and clearer to the taller fox that they were undeniably interwoven with the investigative process, even though they were well out of their jurisdiction and the case was in the capable hooves of Bunnyburrow’s finest.  It meant that their combined vigilance and observational skill set (which required patience, concentration, and paying specific degrees of attention that Nick would rather keep at a minimum for the sake of his mental comfort) to detect lies would prove not only invaluable but absolutely necessary.

“Except he never actually applied as a vendor, all that was done for him; easy enough to omit if no one wanted him there,” dismissed Judy, “And don’t be cute, you’re awful at it.”  Gideon bit back a laugh, to her amusement and Grav’s flickering calm. “I  _ meant  _ back at Woodlands Elementary. The first day you were on the playground, all Gid wanted to do was make friends, but for  _ some _ reason you made him into a pariah.  Why?”

Grav’s fingers drummed on the bar, blinking slowly so to exaggerate a heavy, weary sigh, “My life story?   _ That _ ’s what you want to know?  Fine,” and slung his arms through the bars once more in a slump, “Rabbits are happy-go-lucky idiots, Judy, don’t deny it,” he pointed at her, “and don’t pretend that the thought hasn’t crossed your mind, because it has.”

“Don’t assume to know  _ any _ thing-!” she began, but stopped short to Grav’s obnoxious shushings.

“Oi’, babe, you asked a question, so have the decency to listen to the answer.  And don’t worry,” he cooed, ears swiveling, “The long face of the law is still waiting on her casserole, in fact, it should be done…  _ now _ ,” to which the audible chime of the microwave rang down the hall.  Nick’s brow furrowed as he glanced over his shoulder, and then back to Grav.  “Now where was I… yes, bunnies are angelic little idiots, but  _ foxes _ are devils incarnate.  They’re right up there with wolves as the top ne’er-do-wells in the lore of any species.  Not much fox lore to go off of, sad to say,  _ that _ ’s jealously guarded and mostly oral, so it’s a lot of secondhand accounts at the best of times,” he sighed and drew a lamenting circle on his arm.

“Does this have a point?” Gideon huffed.

“I was born in the city, as I’m sure you guessed,” Grav ignored, “Until twenty-ish years ago when daddy dearest moved out to Bunnyburrow to get back to his roots with Uncle Stu.  He didn’t farm, of course, but saw the potential in farm-fresh foods,” and quietly moaned in reverence, “Ah, ‘potential’, what a word to attach an idea to,” which then faded to lethargy, “Chunky Gunky over there had  _ so  _ much potential.  When I heard about meeting my very first fox at the tender age of six, I could hardly contain my young, impressionable self.  First day at some backwater school, only me and my boyish charm to get by, I anticipated meeting this  _ fox _ I was warned about.  Big, toothy, strong, and  _ powerfully _ ugly, I knew in the depths of my being that I was going to find someone  _ worth _ emulating.  A real  _ monster _ .  The thing of  _ nightmares _ .  What I, in my little bunny body feared above -- or below -- all else.”  He then rolled his eyes and threw himself back from the bars, flicking his wrist with contempt, “And I get  _ that _ goofy disappointment.”

The other three stood in a state of mild confusion as Grav groaned and shook his head, turning his back to them.  Gideon finally spoke up -- with permissible indignation -- and approached the cell, “ _ That _ ’s why you tormented me?  ‘Cause I made nice? Maybe I  _ should _ ’ve growled and snapped, after all, scare some sense-!”

“Yes!” barked Grav, turning on him impatiently and looking at him for the first time, “I would have appreciated that, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?  You met my dad, he’s a serial killer without the body count, which was all well and good but he was  _ gone _ most days.  I had to find  _ some _ one to aspire to; I had my mom, sure, she was an option but she’s my  _ mom _ , I can’t very well bring her to school, you know.”

“How serious is he?” Judy whispered to Nick, taking advantage of the stouter fox’s apt diversionary exchange with Grav.

“Hard to say,” he whispered back, leaning in with hinted worry, “He’s an excellent liar and I’m getting mixed signals.”  Nick could ascertain that Grav was disappointed with Gideon, but the problem was it didn’t make  _ sense _ to him, which was why the substantial worry he felt managed to seep out in hinting dribs-and-drabs.

Gideon stood upright and crossed his arms, to which Grav mimicked, “Just  _ what _ is your problem?” he demanded.

“I’m forced to deal with blithering idiots on a constant basis,” beamed the butterscotch rabbit in a sucrose voice, putting his fingers into the dimples of his cheeks.

“That is his sincere assessment,” Nick reported discretely, nose nearly touching Judy’s ear.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Judy responded, and gingerly pushed his face away as she stepped forward to put an arm to Gideon’s elbow, to which he stepped aside.  “I’m hard-pressed to believe that you acted alone, Grav. Who put you up to it?” she inquired, holding her hips in an assertive stance.

“ _ Now _ or… back  _ then _ ?” he smiled coyly.  To which Nick stepped forward, flanking Judy with Gideon as they looked on in a moment of bemusement, to which Grav cooed wistfully, “We’ll assume you meant back when bunnies didn’t bother crawling out of the dirt they grew their carrots in.  Both of my parents  _ firmly _ believed in the possibilities available to bunnies if they knew how to act and think.  As for myself, I sometimes wondered how I’d be as a predator, you know, one of the bigger ones, maybe a tiger or a polar bear.  All that  _ potential _ for bloodthirst and death,” but he shrugged, “Until I thought about Gunky, and I knew I could make a  _ much _ better fox than him,” he drank in the looks of disgust and derision from the scarlet predators, “Why… if  _ I _ were a fox-”

“You’d have a negative score,” Judy interjected merrily, decisively, and -- most important of all -- smugly.  It got the reaction she wanted, namely from Grav as he tripped over his own exposition with a bewildered look, because the fact of the matter is the reference was completely lost on him with no way to cover up how he should or shouldn’t respond.  Until it became painfully clear that he was out on some fox-joke that Judy was all too in on, and it stiffened his ears quite a bit.

“That was  _ brutal _ ,” commended Gideon with a snap of his fingers.

“I should check the first aid kit for some ointment, for Gary’s burns,” suggested Nick.

The effect was as Judy anticipated, countering his mockery with some of her own.  “Slip me some pad, slyboys,” she said, holding her palms out to either fox, to which they promptly, and smugly, clapped.

“It’s  _ ‘Grav’ _ ,” he fumed, fists curling with an audible cracking of his knuckles, but then his fingers relaxed, and once more approached the bars, eyes dark with animosity as he looked directly at Judy, and then to Gideon.  “Odd coincidence, wouldn’t you say, that Travis Blackfoot came about not long after I did?” he said, once more sucking in the atmosphere of the room, “That, for some reason, he  _ pops _ up from out of nowhere and starts acting all buddy-buddy at  _ that _ exact time?  Judy, you know when I’m talking about, right?”  A leer crawled up his cheeks, determined to lance any jubilation from the trio outside the holding cell, “ _ That _ day?  I remember it  _ quite _ vividly, as I’m sure everyone here does… everyone except  _ him _ ,” and he pointed to Nick.

The air grew heavy, and Gideon seemed to remember something, his crossed arms loosening to scratch at the pelt on his wrist, but Judy was the stony fulcrum on which the world balanced.  “At the risk of playing into his clutches, what is he talking about?” asked Nick, addressing the former Woodland students on his side of the cell door.

“I had it made into a plaque, Judy, so I can read it every morning, or whenever I begin to doubt myself and need encouraging,” he continued, reaching his arms through the bars to cup his mouth, and quoted in a low, cruel tone, “‘He can’t help it, Grav, he’s a  _ fox _ ’.”

Judy did not falter, but rather squared her shoulders against his slow, taunting applause… and it was her eyes locked on Grav which kept the varied but still hurt expressions of her ‘slyboys’ in the peripheral of her vision.

“I spent  _ months _ trying to get that big bad fox to show and all it took was a single sentence to remind him of what he is,” Grav said, “After that, Travis went in to rev his engine, but he was hardly necessary, not with  _ Judy Hopps _ playing the hero.  It was  _ artful _ .”

“Travis was my  _ friend _ ,” Gideon finally asserted with a jabbing finger, even daring a step forward.

“Operative word: ‘was’.  What _ ever _ could have happened to him after they took you away, I wonder.  Did he stick around, perhaps? Did he  _ wait _ ?  Maybe he was there with a baseball and mitt for a game of catch, or a kite to fly on sunny days.  Maybe you two ran off into the woods to resume your boyish adventures, skipping through fields of wildflowers,  _ tra la la _ .  Hmm?”

Gideon didn’t answer.

“No, because  _ I _ had him hang around to keep you hating, to encourage every act of bullying, and it  _ worked _ ; all the way up to Carrot Days when you finally,  _ finally _ showed everyone the big, bad predator you  _ really  _ are,” and Grav chuckled a hollow, spiteful chuckle, “The  _ only _ reason he liked you, Gunky, was because I told him to, and nothing else.”

“Now, see, that last part is a lie,” Nick butted in, disrupting Gideon’s choked expression, “which tells me that this ‘Travis Blackfoot’ guy really  _ did _ like you, Bangs, and Grover here knows it,” he postulated with a rubbing of his chin, “You know, there’s a ‘Travis Blackfoot’ -- a ferret, if memory serves, and still has a subtle farmyard accent -- that acts in a small theatre down on Flock Street near Downtown Zootopia.  I can easily get his number once I return to the city, as well as a true account of what  _ really _ happened,” and shot Grav a smirk with a waggling arch of his eyebrows.

“Hah!” barked Gideon, and stepped in until he was nearly against the bars, paws on his knees as he addressed a bored, disappointed looking Grav, “Hear that?  You ain’t nuthin’ but a big, fat-” and promptly choked as the tie he wore, the one with the mustard stain at the end, the one Nick relinquished for only a few minutes but Gideon wore instead to tease the taller fox, hung well within the rabbit’s reach.

“ _ Yes _ , secret’s out, I guess, Travis  _ liked _ you,” hissed Grav, wrenching the tie in both paws as he leaned back to slam Gideon’s face into the bars and hold him there as the tie cinched tighter around his neck.  The fox’s claws grabbed for purchase at the cell door, tail flailing and feet stamping the ground.

“Grav, stop it!” Judy immediately commanded, her mind whirling as she swept the room for the nearest something to cut the tie with.

“Stay out of this, Judy, or I’ll pop his head off here and now,” Grav warned around the rasping coughs.  “Now you listen to me, you sad excuse for a predator,” snarled the rabbit, his face nearly touching Gideon’s through the bars, but did not get a chance to finish his ultimatum.

Nick slipped in, weaving an arm through the frantic limbs to grab at the flicking, narrower length of tie with a swift tug, and in a sudden whine of whipping fabric, the knot undid to slip out of Gideon’s shirt collar, thus sending both he and Grav reeling backward, the latter deftly regaining balance while the former was deftly steadied by Judy.  Snatching the narrow end of the tie out of the air, Nick yanked it from the hooligan’s surprised paws. “You,” the taller fox said, waggling the neck ornament at his cousin, “have lost tie privileges,” and popped his collar to snap his wrist, tie the knot, and recomplete his iconography.

“How…?” asked a dumbfounded Grav, looking at his own empty paws, and then to Nick.

“Fox secret, you wouldn’t understand,” he said matter-of-factly, and tugged on the narrower end to release the special, ‘quick-escape’ knot taught by his father, and then in the wink of an eye, his fingers were a flurry as he redid it once more, and straightened it.  “So, Bangs, what do you have to say for yourself, nearly dying from so  _ obvious _ a ruse?” asked Nick, fully turning his back on the holding cell (and ensuring that no part of him was within arm’s reach), paws on his hips to emphasize the scolding look.

“Nick,  _ really _ , this isn’t something to joke about,” berated Judy, but as Gideon touched her paw and cleared his throat in a distinctly grateful kind of way, she looked up at him and his forming smirk.

The stouter fox straightened up and fixed his collar, slipping a paw into one pocket as he gestured to Grav, “Y’see Jude, Stretch, as soon as I stepped in here I noticed an odd smell, but needed to get closer to be sure,” he began in a clearing rasp, and addressed the butterscotch rabbit, “Since  _ you _ ’re so interested in what happened to me after Carrot Days, Grav, I’ll tell ya’.

“I got expelled from Woodlands and put in a special class for troubled young preds, called ourselves the ‘Lost Boys’.  It was me, another fox, a bear, a skunk, a pair of raccoon twins, and…” he paused, and slowly approached the holding cell, still smirking and much smugger than before, “A  _ bunny _ .”

Grav scoffed, his eyes dark but not their darkest.  “You say that as if I cared.”

“This whole farmyard mentality confuses me,” Nick admitted, one arm crossed over his chest as the other lazily pointed at Gideon while pivoting and stepping back, “I can understand ‘young’ -- and maybe the ’troubled’ part leads into it -- but how does a  _ bunny  _ get lumped in with predators?”

Judy gasped and clasped her cheeks, “I think I know how!  Some bunnies, especially when they’re really young, would eat  _ bugs _ ; it happens with all species, actually.  Bunny parents always discourage it because it usually induces vomiting and nausea, if it’s not processed correctly.  I had two brothers and a sister that did it (I think one of them was mimicking the others, though), but they outgrew it while still in diapers.”

Gideon watched as Grav’s eyes sank deeper and deeper into an abyssal black, his fingers wrapping around the bars until the pelt stretched tight over them.  He screwed his courage to the sticking place and kept on, “Well, this one bunny kept on eating them up through grade school, except what  _ I _ heard is he pounced a bird and took a big bite out of it.”

“Yes, that sounds like normal, untroubled, young predator behavior,” Nick grinned.

“Did it in front of a bunch of other bunnies and prey, too, so they put him in the ‘Lost Boys’,” Gideon continued, “He didn’t stop pouncing, neither, mainly bugs, but also birds and lizards when he could get ‘em, even got me more than a few times, and lemme tell ya’, you don’t forget the smell of bug-breath too easily,  _ especially _ from a bunny.  Now, I dunno what Grav here’s been up to since I last seen him at Woodlands, but I can place a sure wager on what he’s been  _ eatin’ _ ’!”

Grav loosed a guttural bellow to force a full step back from each of the three, and then he clenched his jaw, “I have it,” he snarled, “I.  Have.  _ It _ .”  Judy once explained to Nick and Gideon about how she intimately braided emotions with an individual’s voice -- how Nick filled her with electrifying urgency and Gideon beckoned her to help and aid -- Grav’s empathic void was as plain to her as the nose on his face, and now the foxes fully grasped the “nothing” which spiked the fur on the nape of their neck.

“ _ I _ have your nightmares, Gideon, which you scream yourself awake from to escape what you hopelessly believe is the refuge of sleep.   _ I _ have the flashes of terror in your waking hours that seize your very  _ soul  _ until all you can do is cower in vain attempts to forget.  They’re all  _ mine _ ,” growled the rabbit, making the cage shake as he jostled the cell door, “because  _ I _ have what made them.”

For an eternal second, no one spoke via their mouths, only their eyes; realization dawned on the trembling blue of Gideon, as it also did on the resolute violet of Judy and resilient green of Nick; but then Grav’s black went wide as he caught them and their susurrant fear.  The snarl fell, but only so his face could split with a demonic leer that showed not only his teeth but his gums as well. “ _ You _ … know?” he taunted in a voice made gravelly with creeping cackles that grew loud and shrill until it was  _ not _ mocking laughter, but instead a mockery  _ of  _ laughter, “You  _ know _ !

“How did they find out,  _ Gideon _ ?” he spat, and though the name was correct it still felt like a cruel jab, especially when his face formed a momentary, insulting pout, “Did you  _ cry _ when you confessed those deepest, darkest secrets?  Did  _ some _ one accidentally discover them by getting  _ too close _ ?” he asked as he glanced between Judy and Nick with an accusatory, respective quirking of each eyebrow, and then laughed his  _ falsetto  _ once more.  “Of course, you can’t…  _ really _ know, can you?” he continued, quietly, pressing his face against the gap between the bars with impish glee, “After all,  _ you _ weren’t there to witness it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd forgotten how unsettling this chapter is...
> 
> Chester Vandersnatch is based on the Cheshire Cat from "Alice in Wonderland", more notably from the 2010 remake (i.e., his nickname of "Chess"); "Vandersnatch" is a stylized respelling of the "Bandersnatch", also included in the 2010 remake. Keep an eye out for him. His and John's exchange is an adaptation of the conversation between Preston B. Whitmore and Milo Thatch in "Atlantis: the Lost Empire" (respectively).
> 
> When Grav mentions the ill reputation of wolves throughout history, I am referencing how most if not all depictions of wolves in Disney films are either antagonistic or downright villainous (with notable exceptions). As for the "Lost Boys", they are a direct reflection to the same-named cast of characters from "Peter Pan" (turns out the skunk is, actually, classified as a predator).
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, traveler.

Sheriff Rachel Longmare sat in the station’s break room, feeling -- perhaps for the first time that day -- at ease.  The microwave hummed to reheat a welcomed meal so courteously provided by trusted citizen Gideon Grey. Granted,  _ he _ didn’t make it, but ever since his bakery opened up, the stout fox supplied pastries and other such baked goods to the station on a nearly regular basis; time was, a week couldn’t pass unless  _ some _ one from the prey community called about “suspicious activity” from the newly opened “pred bakery” on the edge of town, so any officer sent to “investigate” went with a list of orders from the rest of the station (which the fox was thoughtful enough to start a tab for).  Rachel always got a nicker of amusement at the irony that it was those multitudes of complaints from neighboring businesses that, ultimately, kept  Gideon Grey's Real Good Baked Stuff afloat during the early days of the Pred-Scare.

Glancing at the nuker, the horse was grateful that he didn’t bring anything from his shop tonight; late-night sweets always caused her some manner of indigestion, and Bonnie Hopps’s home-cookery was just the wholesome thing she needed, even if it did have a certain mass-produced taste to it.  Having to make food for hundreds of hungry mouths always boggled the equine -- she only had two colts and a filly herself, which was plenty of hooves trotting about for her and her mate to handle. Rachel let herself relax further at the thought of her mustached stallion as the white noise of the microwave and subtle smell of warming food gave the mare a severely needed calm.  After all, none other than Judy Hopps was dressing down the perp in the other room, no doubt telling him what for…

That bunny had a brighter future than any Rachel saw, and she’d seen a lot.  Plenty of rabbits (well, a select few such that she -- as a horse -- did not need all her hooves to count them) tried for a spot in the sheriff’s posse but none made the cut for some reason or another.  Rachel was so  _ sure _ that Judy would be the first, and how amazing that would be;  _ Sheriff _ Judy Hopps.  With her at the helm, the entire Burrow would be a better place.  Bunnies were funny like that, and it was something Rachel’s mate always joked of.  All it took was one bunny to lead the rest to a single cause, and eventually, all of them would be on board backing that single long-eared figurehead like iron shavings to a magnet.  Her mate continued to joke that rabbits could very well change the course of society because they were small and unassuming enough to be dismissed, but populous and determined enough to affect real change.  Rachel’s mind drifted in her borderline complacency at the fancifulness of  _ rabbits _ changing the world.  No single species of mammal could do that, but Judy was big enough to get the world pointed in the right direction, at least, an inspiration not only to bunnies but horses, sheep… foxes.

As the microwave hummed on, Rachel’s closed eyes hooded and her chin rested atop folded hooves.  She worried once that Judy’s dream ended before it started. It wasn’t an hour since her Carrot Days stage play that Gideon attacked her…  She watched those two grow up from embittered, bickering youths to civil, cooperative adults, a feat that some of the same species --  _ family _ members, even -- had trouble accomplishing; yet a bunny and a fox were in  _ her _ station, working together to protect the innocent.  Rachel chuckled. Only Judy Hopps could make her worst enemy into a trusted ally.

And then there was the  _ other  _ bunny and fox to consider.  Grav Hopps  _ never  _ tripped her sheriff’s sense; good upbringing, always polite and respectful, maybe a little mischievous on the rare occasion, but at that age, who wasn’t?  He was practically a male, butterscotch version of Judy… except Judy was always wary and distant of Grav. Maybe  _ that _ should’ve tipped her off, but she always figured it was some kind of bashfulness.  And this other fox, this  _ Nick Wilde _ character; of course she heard about him, he sent ripples through the grapevine just the same as Judy did.  A fox in uniform? Rachel never thought she’d see the day. Yet here he comes, out of the blue with what could be one of the biggest cases to really hit Bunnyburrow since the Pred-Scare last year or even that “Missing Prince” fiasco from over twenty years ago…

The microwave chimed its completion of timely nourishment to draw Longmare up from her seat and reverie.  Provided Officer Legrand did as she instructed of him, that “toxic whipped cream” should be in the system by now and the investigation initiated (if at least on paper), and with a few strings pulled, maybe they can get the substance in question tested for Night Howler sooner rather than later.  Her nostrils flared at the scent of a warmed three-bean casserole as she peeled the plastic lid back fully, looking down at the numerous shades of green comprising her dinner. At the table, Rachel forewent her hoof-utensils to, instead, lift the plasticware to her lips and chow down; she was a horse, after all, and circumstances being what they were, allowed her to eat like one.  “Ahh… Bonnie’s ‘secret’ carrot-and-zucchini sauce… good for the soul,” she whinnied. Sheriff Rachel Longmare, respected by those who knew her and feared by those who dare step out of line with the law, savored the simple pleasure of eating a mother-made meal like a filly.

Well into her homely feast, the horse’s serenity shattered at a horrid, carnal scream, causing Rachel to spray her current mouthful of casserole across the table and drop the plasticware.  Her ears were to the ceiling, one half of her body calling every honed muscle and reflex to action while the other sent waves of apprehension from head-to-hoof. “What in blazes was  _ that _ ?” she blurted out around choking coughs, disregarding the mess of food to rise from her chair, staring hard at the doorway with one hoof to the tabletop and the other hovering over her taser.  Sure and swift, she ducked into the hallway and galloped down to the holding cells, stopping only when her blood froze at what was certainly the most terrifying cackle she ever had the misfortune to hear.  Rachel wasn’t any kind of superstitious sort, but darn it all, that…  _ noise _ sure-as-shootin’ caught a lump in her throat.

Any sheriff worth their salt is not stayed by fear for very long, though, and soon enough, Longmare swung into the room, sweeping for what she assumed was some instigator that she hadn’t yet seen.  Her protective attention eventually fell upon Nick, Judy, and Gideon, standing a bit far back from a sweetly smiling, ever-amiable Grav Hopps.

“Welcome back, sheriff!” he delightfully greeting over the heads of the others, “I think I’m ready to speak with my team of lawyers now if that’s okay with you?”

The air was tense in that room but from the best that Rachel could determine, no one else heard the scream or the cackle.  She eyed them each, one-by-one: both Nick and Judy acted as if nothing were amiss, but Gideon gave it all away that  _ some _ thing happened by his obvious, but residual, anxiety.  Additionally, Rachel couldn’t help but notice that Nick was now wearing Gideon’s tie, although she couldn’t fathom the significance of such a trifle if there  _ was  _ any at all.  “So,” the horse prompted, calmly, and though her taser was still holstered, she re-clipped its strap to let her arm relax, “how’d it go?”

“Stick a fork in it, ‘cause we’re done here,” Gideon immediately said with a casual grin and a turn of his heel, pivoting with such sporadic assurance that, if he were much closer, his sweeping tail sweeping might’ve hit Grav square in the face.

Nick slipped both paws into his pockets with a smirking shrug, “He’s told us all we need to know,” and glanced over a shoulder, “Enjoy your stay at the Holding Cell Motel, Graham, I recommend taking advantage of the continental breakfast.”

Judy, less smug than her vulpine cohorts, pointed to her eyes with a finger for each, and then spun her wrist to sternly gesture at Grav; it barely registered with him, which she rightly figured.  So, perhaps  _ more  _ telling was the severe intent with which she directed her ears at him;  _ then _ his sucrose falsehood flickered.

“Roger that,” Longmare confirmed and then spoke into the walkie-talkie on her shoulder, with a soft, electronic cough, “Legrand, d’you have eyes on the cell?”

“Yes, ma’am,” coughed the walkie-talkie, the giraffe’s languid voice otherwise loud and clear, even if it sounded slightly shaken, “Over.”

“Right then,” and Rachel clopped her hooves together as she stepped aside so that her fellow officers and a key witness to the case could exit the holding cells, and though she was quite sure that Grav could hear everything she said, even out in the hall, she addressed them as though in a private conversation, “Wilde, Hopps, anything worth summarizing about the five minutes I was out of the room?”

Judy took point, “Nothing about the case itself that you haven’t already figured, unfortunately.  Aside from direct barbs, Grav’s shut up tight as a drum, and he looks ready to camp out in that cell before squawking.”

“We can say with some certainty, however, that he’s  _ not  _ working alone,” Nick added, and then retrieved his phone with a typing flurry of his thumbs, “From  _ whom _ his instructions come is still an unknown, though.”  Presenting the screen with a finger to his lips, he showed Longmare what he typed out:  **Magnus Hopps(?)** .  Rachel reeled as quietly as she could, looking with uncertainty to the agreeing nods of Judy and Gideon after they, too, read the message.  “Well!” Nick said, yawning, “It has been a day and I think I speak for the three of us when I say we’re quite tuckered out.”

“You speak for yourself, Slick,” teased Judy, “I could go for another  _ two _ days if I wanted.”

“ _ Do _ you want to?” Nick responded, turning towards the station’s entrance and stashing his phone once more.

“Oh my sweet heavens,  _ no _ ,” she scoffed, “but I could if need be.”

“I don’t mind the speaking for on bein’ tuckered,” responded Gideon, as he followed suit behind Nick and Judy, “I s’pose I’m driving Stretch here back to my parents’ house, and I’ll be good staying there for the night.  How ‘bout you, Jude, need a ride anywhere?”

“I guess I’ll tag along,” pondered Judy, and took out her phone not to type secret, silent missive for her cohorts but a text to her own parents, “I’ve still got plenty of catching up to do with Esther, and it wouldn’t be the first time I spent the night.”

Rachel nickered, and gave her head a flick as a few more strands of her mane dislodged from the tight bun intended to hold them back, “And how  _ is _ my ‘bangs-sister’?  I can see you and she had yourselves some toe-treatment today,” she pointed out, to which Judy paused to admire the rosy-red pedicure she got alongside Esther earlier that day, “Maybe tomorrow she and I can get our manes done if she’s available.”

The connection formed between females during simultaneous cosmetic modifications -- and the peripheral appreciation from other females about said modifications -- was perhaps lost on the nearby males.  Nick, whose skill in reading others was undoubtedly masterful, understood the emotional bonds strengthened through alike activity; Gideon, whose own experience of an older sister with gal friends gave him applicable firsthand knowledge, also understood…  Analogously, either  _ understood _ that gears inside of a clock move its hands to tell time, yet the intricate pattern of kinetic transference along those gears might very well be quantum mechanics.  However, though they didn’t  _ get _ it, they knew the crucial information that any interruption on  _ their _ part would only prolong the exchange.

Patience eventually paid off, Nick with his paws folded behind him, Gideon with his paws in his pockets, and each did their best not to look bored or hurried until Judy managed to break away from her visibly cathartic conversation with Rachel.  She led them out past Officer Legrand, bidding the giraffe a one-sided “good night” and appreciation for his help; Legrand’s response was vehemently disinterested, borderline apathetic, but sparked with professional courtesy after a poignant huffing from Sheriff Longmare’s nostrils.  The cool night air and Gideon’s van greeted their exit from the sheriff’s office.

* * *

“When do you think it would be safe to talk, Carrots?” asked Nick, performing a cursory sweep of the area by spinning once as he walked, “Every minute spent in Bunnyburrow is a new reminder of how little my street smarts affords me out here.”

“Inside the van and ambulant,” Judy answered with a decisive point of her finger.

“A’ight, Stretch, let’s have those keys,” said Gideon, holding out his paw to catch an expected airborne keyring, but only got a confused, quirked eyebrow and an open-palmed shrug.

“I gave them back to you after I turned the van off,” Nick said flatly.

“You did no such thing.”

“Yes I  _ did _ , I gave them back by leaving them on the dashboard in plain sight,” he continued, and then pointed through the windshield to the dull glimmer of keys inside, “ _ See _ , there they are,” and earned a groaning facepalm from his cousin.  “What, don’t blame  _ me _ that you didn’t notice, even if -- I’ll admit -- what Judy said about a score going away was a bit diverting.  I figured you had them when you opened the back door of the van,  _ twice _ .”

“I unlocked it from the button near the steering wheel, Stretch, and didn’t bother locking it up again because I figured no one would be dumb enough to steal out of a van in front of the  _ sheriff _ ’s office,” he huffed, and then stomped over to the driver’s side door to pull the handle, only to find it providing undue resistance.  His forehead collided on the window with a soft ‘thunk’, “Jude, please check the other door…”

As requested, the rabbit hopped over from her simmering partner to reach up and find that it was, indeed, “Also locked, which is  _ kinda  _ my fault, as I tend to lock car doors if I’m the last one out as a matter of habit… Part-and-parcel of living with a large family and lots of younger siblings, I guess.  I could call my Dad-?”

“No!” Nick said louder than he intended, breathed, and repeated, likewise approaching the vehicle, “ _ No _ .  We don’t need another opportunity for Magnus to know of our circumstances, sheriff’s office or not, and  _ that _ would roll out the red carpet.”

“You’ve lost driving privileges, Stretch,” Gideon said dully, staring at the keys on his dashboard, and then reached for his phone.

“Oh  _ please _ , this circus of errors was a group effort.  Look, give that roadside assistance of yours another call and we’ll wait inside the sheriff’s office until they come,” he suggested, “I’m sure they get keys out of locked cars all the time.”

“One step ahead of you,” Gideon grunted, raising an arm to lean an elbow against the van as he studied the screen on his phone, “Huh, I guess I never ended the first  Head-to-Tow call, ‘cause it’s still counting down an ETA.”

“There, see?  Everything works out,” Nick assured, “GPS still active, I’d wager, so they’ll meet us here without too much hassle; probably wondering how a bottomed-out van got so mobile.”

“I’m guessing this tow truck was called while I was still under,” Judy speculated as she plopped her seat down on the front bumper and leaned against the grill, “and promptly forgotten about once a certain lion came to help out.”

The lankier fox sprawled belly-down on the hood, arms folded as he stared at the keys he set on the dashboard, wondering if it were possible to will their obedience into his grasp.  “Two-for-two, Carrots, but a quick question, since we’re stranded for the interim. Ever since you woke up, I couldn’t help but notice a certain… far off concentration on your face that crops up from time-to-time.  Its significance eluded me until I saw you conversing with Grav down the hall, so what I’m wondering is this: just  _ who _ are you talking to?” he asked and propped his grinning head up.

She pulled her knee close while keeping a heel braced into the ground, head laid back as she stared up at the stars, ears flopped lazily across the hood of the van.  Gideon kept his elbow against the van’s frame as he quietly joined the conversation, a palm to his hip and one leg crossed over the other. Judy had good reason to choose her words carefully, thumbs thoughtfully tapping the knee she held before she spoke, “We’ll say… that you  _ actually _ know his name, Slick,” and then winked.

Nick grinned wider, ears almost erect as he pointed discreetly under a shoulder, “Does…  _ Bangs _ know his name?” he said, to which Gideon blinked in confusion.

“Wait, whose name?”

“He  _ does _ ,” Judy affirmed, and craned her neck to address him, “Isn’t that right, Gid?  You know  _ his _ name, but you might not know  _ him _ .”  When the response was only a bemused frown, the rabbit continued, “ _ He _ actually resembles you, according to Nick.”

The blue eyes were narrowed at first as the idea rolled about in his mind and gradually widened, “Oh!” and leaned forward in a harsh whisper, “You’re not talking about that ‘Dawson’ thing Stretch here was on about, are you?”

Judy tapped her nose, pivoting so that she instead stood with a foot propped on the bumper, and leaned to that raised knee, “The very same.”

“I knew it,” said Nick triumphantly, smugly, “I  _ wondered _ where he went off to, but I guess I was only in ‘communication’ with him with forty-eight hours before  _ ‘it’  _ ran its course, but I’m sure you as a  _ bunny  _ will enjoy his company for much longer.”

She smirked and shrugged half-heartedly, “Unlike you, Slick, I’ve got years of mental training to bolster me.  So, while Dawson was something of a hindrance to  _ you _ , for me he’s more of a… an assistant, that only I can see and hear.”

“Well, lookie here,” gasped Gideon as he pointed to his phone, “The tow truck’s only another minute out, and with it some  _ sanity _ ,” he emphasized towards the other two, “Maybe this is why rabbits and foxes weren’t allowed to mingle, because they pile on each other’s  _ crazy _ .”

“And I suppose  _ bears  _ are a notable source of common sense?” teased Nick, idly scratching under his chin; though not actually facing Gideon he knew full well that the other fox’s face was distorted in curious incredulity.  When he did finally turn, he was met with the expected expression changing into rigorous thought.

“You looked up his website for  Head-to-Tow , didn’t ya’?” reasoned Gideon, “And found out that Bruno De Yae’s a bear.”

“Given enough time, I know everybody,” stated Nick, “As it so happens, ‘head-to-toe’ is a generic yet uncommon phrase for ‘top-to-bottom’ most frequented by either bears or badgers; larger preds are not as often labeled ‘crazy’ in the same way we smaller preds are.  Were the garage owned by a  _ bunny _ it’d be ‘ear-to-toe’, and a fox would name it ‘head-to-tail’, probably with some pun worked in,” and then shrugged, “Honestly, Bangs, I didn’t think you were so averse to ‘crazy’, being a fox and all; like you said, ‘it’s what we do’.”

“I like crazy that don’t leave me out of the mix, thank you  _ very _ much,” he huffed.

Judy came around from the front of the van at this and exchanged a surprised look with Nick, “Do you  _ really _ want Dawson in your head?” she asked, leaning weight onto one leg to rest a paw on her waist, “I wouldn’t exactly call it a  _ ‘fun’ _ experience.”

“I guess, but knowing that this ‘Dawson’ stuff looks like  _ me _ for whatever reason,” he sulked, even though he managed a wry smirk, “and I didn’t even give my permission for it.  Maybe I should sue; my sister’s a lawyer, after all.”

“Good luck with that,” Nick scoffed, “Besides, Esther’s a  _ defense _ attorney.  Not quite what you’re going for.”

“If it’s any consolation, Gid, my ‘Dawson’,” Judy said, grimacing at how weird it sounded, “ _ doesn’t _ look like you.  He’s actually a bunny version of Nick,” and smiled with a playful backhand at her partner.

“ _ Pfft _ , bunny-Nick!” laughed Gideon.

“Wait, you’ve got a  _ bunny _ -me hopping about your head?” pressed Nick, ignoring the guffaws as he bent over to prod a finger at her brow, “Who else is bunnified in there; Bogo?  I’d bet it’s Bogo, you’d just  _ love _ to see him with a cute widdle nose and a fluffy-wuffy tail, wouldn’t you.”

“Wha-!” she awkwardly denied, shrugging and smiling, “What makes you think  _ that _ ?”

Nick gasped and reeled, the finger then accusatory.  “You  _ do _ have bunny-Bogo!”

“Yeah, well, I’ll have you know he makes a  _ very _ dignified rabbit, unlike a certain  _ some _ one!”

“You deserve  _ every _ bit of sass he dishes out, imagining your loved ones as bunnies without the decency to even  _ tell _ them about it,” Nick scoffed once more, and then grabbed the tip of her ear and cupped his mouth to talk directly into it, “Show her what for, Dawson!”

Judy staggered and rubbed her ear, “What happens in  _ my _ head is none of  _ your _ business,” she asserted loftily, and straightened her shirt with a quick tug, “And just for that, I’m changing Dawson’s outfit from ‘butler’ to ‘maid’.   _ That _ ’ll show you.”

“Fight it, Dawson!” Nick called again, both paws cupping his mouth, but then crossed his arms with a quirked brow, “Wait, you can change Dawson’s outfit?   _ I _ couldn’t control how he looked, and not by lack of trying, either,” pondered Nick with a rub of his chin, “Which is a shame, because one time he showed up as Esther wearing only-”

Gideon announced the arrival of headlights when his phone’s ETA clock merrily chimed at all zeroes, and walked nearer the road to flag down what was the second large, approaching truck he and Nick had seen that night.  It pulled over and came to a stop nearby; a door sporting the logo of the  Head-to-Tow garage -- faded from time in the sun and general wear-and-tear -- flew open to reveal not a member of the larger predator species, but a boisterous, grayish-brown rabbit leaping out to land dramatically, “Well, a howdy-do, and a good ev’ning to the lot of ya’!” he called with a broad grin, “ _ This _ has to be the fastest movin’, stuck ve~hicle I’d  _ ever _ seen, Gid.  I’ll bet it’s a mighty good story, too.”

“ _ Brady _ ,” Gideon said with a strained smile, seething in that special way one would as a waiter brings them a food they’ll eat, but not what they ordered, “A how-d’you-do right back at’cha,” and cleared his throat with a quick wringing of his paws, “Bruno wouldn’t happen to be that Caribouan Cruise, would he?”

“You know it,” rattled off the truck’s driver when the engine died down, and out from the passenger’s door slipped a fox even  _ lankier _ than Nick, “Ol’ Bruno drew the long straw on that one, he did, lucky son-of-a-gun if ever there were.  So! We’d driven all this way to see to a stuck van, and a stuck van is what we’re seein’  _ to _ , elsewise I’d not bothered startin’ up the truck, no sir.”

“As luck would have it, Brett,  _ some _ one locked my keys in the van,” Gideon explained, and tossed a thumb over his shoulder, which was all the prompting Brady needed to slide on past the baker as Brett reached into the truck to haul out a hefty, age-beaten toolbox, “So I hope you brought your Slim Jim along.”

“Ms. Judy Hopps, Bunnyburrow’s prettiest belle,” declared Brady, beaming brighter in a grand bow that nearly touched his ear tips to the ground, to which Judy accepted with modesty, “I figured you and Bo would be shindiggin’ it at the fairgrounds,” he grinned, once more upright, “How’s a fine lady like yerself get into such a sce~nario as this?”

“Mind your tongue, Brady, or I’ll snatch it from that smart mouth o’ yours, I will,” warned Brett, fishing out the aforementioned Slim Jim so to toss it at the rabbit’s general direction and into a deft catch, “You best be gettin’ on that door b’fore kickin’ your own teeth in.”

“I’m havin’ myself a civil conversing, Brett,” he replied with a shaking of the tool, “and don’t you be accusin’ otherwise, or it ain’t  _ me _ swallowin’ teeth!” and then faced himself to properly address the issue of the van’s locked door.

“Welly welly, tuck my tail and yella my belly, you’re that Nick Wilde, ain’t ya’?” Brett asked rhetorically with a wide-toothed grin, the toolbox swinging along before dropping with a heavy clatter of the loose implements inside, freeing up his paws that he might grab one of Nick’s in a cordial iron grip, “It is an utmost  _ pleasure _ to meet ya’ snout-to-snout, an’ tha’s the truth.”

Nick’s jaw clenched in a similarly strained smile as he bore through the momentary pain of what felt like the bones in his paw crushing under farmyard hospitality.  “Yes!  _ Hi _ , or a ‘howdy-do’, I think it goes,” and forced a chuckle to wrench his paw as calmly as possible from the farm-fox, hiding it behind his back to test its functionality, “I didn’t think my infamy extended so far beyond Zootopian city limits,” he managed without too many grunts.

“That makes two of us,” said Gideon, catching the keys tossed from Brady after a swift, nigh effortless unlocking of the door, “I wasn’t out of Preds’ Corner  _ that _ long, was I?”

“Don’t go fallin’ for any o’ his wiles, Brett here’s jus’ tickled pink to know there’s a fox in  _ some _ kinda au~thority,” jabbed Brady.

“Now  _ what _ did I say ‘bout your smart mouth, Brady?” huffed Brett, fists to his waist to emphasize his glare, “You’d best not be a scuffin’ all over my honor like I thinks you is.”

“You heard me right, Brett, and I’ll say whichever smart thing I deem nece~ssary to say, and you’d best deal with the lot of it,” and leaned up to return the glare.

Judy stepped adjacent and raised her paws in patient, calming gestures, “Guys, settle, you  _ are _ in front of the sheriff’s office.”

“Terr’bly sorry, Ms. Hopps,” smiled the rabbit with a rubbing of his nape, “but you know how it is with us bunnies and foxes, sometimes we jus’ can’t help it,” and gestured between the two of them with the Slim Jim.

Brett snatched the tool to toss it into the box, “Well, I won’t be shown up for manners, no sir, so I’m  _ also  _ sorry that you had to see that untoward display, Ms. Hopps, it weren’t called for.”

“ _ Please _ , it’s ‘Judy’, and I’ve seen worse at the precinct,” she assured with a dismissive push of her paws.  Not missing a beat, the greasebunny stooped to cradle one of those extended paws and touch a kiss to the back of it.

“Lookit this  _ roustabout _ playin’ at a gentlemammal,” chided Brett, grabbing his fellow mechanic by the collar to drag him and the toolbox back to the truck, “Mark my words, Brady, ev’ry bit o’ that smart mouth is gonna land you in a  _ heap _ o’ trouble, you’d best believe it, because Mr. Bo Briar will have some  _ strong _ words about you sweetin’ on his lady!”

“I’s not bein’ sweet, only polite!” said Brady when he managed to writhe free from the iron grip on his shirt, and then tapped an enthusiastic salute from his eyebrow before hopping into the truck after Brett and closing the door, smiling as he waved out the window, “Y’all have yerselves a good night, right? And you’d best call if there’s any more pre~dicaments!”

Judy smiled and waved back, as did Gideon before he climbed behind the wheel of his van.  Nick remained stoic but smiled politely as he followed his partner around to the passenger’s side.  “Such colorful locals you two have here,” he remarked, holding the door open with a sweep of his arm, to which Judy pantomimed a curtsey before hopping in.

“Brady Zippa and Brett Paddy,” laughed Judy as she buckled herself in, “Maybe Gid’s got a point about bunnies and foxes forming a feedback loop on ‘the crazy’.”

The van revved to life before Nick closed the passenger-side door, scooting into position for the securing of his own seatbelt, “And just think, Carrots, that could be  _ us, _ given enough time.  A bunny and a fox, working together for years, perceived as utterly insane,” he said, an arm around her shoulders as he held out his palm as though to present a great expanse before them, “It’s the way of the future, you’d best be believin’.”

Gideon let out a relieved sigh as he leaned out the window and backed onto the street, “If it puts this whole Night Howler thing behind us, then maybe it won’t be  _ so _ bad.”

“Tell me about it,” grunted Judy, stretching out her arms and legs, chest arching and toes splaying with a faint groan before reclining in the middle seat, “The issue is in safe hooves with Rachel, so I think we can relax for the night.  Rest is as important as work, after all, ‘Give your body and mind a chance to unwind’, my Uncle Terry always says.”

Nick rolled the window down and slung his arm out of it, even inching nearer to get some of the building breeze against his face, “I can’t wait to get back to work on Friday, because I’ll need a vacation from my vacation.”

“What about those darknet assassins?” Gideon frowned, “Aren’t they, like, super elite forces out for our heads, or somethin’?”

Judy waved her arm dismissively, unable to promote any real bodily movement as she relaxed in the moment, “A definite concern, Gid, but that takes  _ time _ , and you two met with Uncle Magnus  _ maybe _ two hours ago.  He is nothing if not a businessmammal, so no matter  _ how _ much you two riled him, he won’t do something rash that will jeopardize his reputation.”

“Finnick set up algorithms to alert him if either his or my name pops up on the Darknet,” and then casually added, “Paranoia keeps you alive, after all; it’s something we picked up some years back, and a harder habit to drop than  Sugar Rush .”

“I  _ love _ that game,” grinned Judy, “Still haven’t beaten any of Benny’s high scores, though…”

“So… there  _ aren’t _ assassins coming for us?”

“We’re not saying that,” Nick corrected, “We’re saying it’s unlikely that assassins will come for us  _ tonight _ .  Uncle Terry brings up a valid point, Bangs, we need rest.  Like I said before, Carrots is our lucky charm in that regard because Magnus isn’t stupid enough to endanger her.  Besides, Finnick’s our ear to the ground and if something goes awry, he’ll tell us.”

“And that little ploy with Dawson should have them chasing their tails for a while.  Nothing quite like an honest lie to give someone the runaround,” grinned Judy, and looked up to Gideon’s questioning glance, “I do actually see Dawson, but eavesdroppers don’t know that it’s because Slick’s talking about him, and years of mental training mixed with a hallucinogenic drug is what made him.  ‘Dawson’ probably sounds like code for some kind of super advanced, nano-technology communication.”

“Okay, sure,” he shrugged.

“Bunnies, am I right?” said Nick.

“Bunnies,” agreed Gideon, but then smirked, “Hey Jude, how would  _ I _ look as a bunny?”

Judy took a moment to study him with a quiet tapping of her chin, and then giggled as she cupped her mouth, “Oh, that is _ too  _ cute.”

“R-Really?”

“I’ll be taking that fox card, now,” Nick said flatly and holding out his palm.

“ _ Ah ah ah _ ,” Judy rebuked, nudging his wrist to gingerly guide it away from Gideon, “Let’s not get off subject, Slick, we’ve still Grav Hopps to go over before arriving at the Grey homestead.”

Nick sighed, “ _ Fine _ , I’ll make this as succinct as possible, but no promises.  Grav’s first lie: Magnus’s purpose for coming to Bunnyburrow wasn’t to ‘get back to his roots’.  Carrots, if you’ll present your paws, please… thank you,” he said, and gently held the rabbit’s palms and knuckles, turning them over and stretching the fingers, “You don’t need to look, Bangs, but  _ these  _ are digger’s paws.  Stu has them, Bonnie has them, Bo has them, and of the onslaught of bunnies I saw on the Hopps farm, not a  _ one _ wasn’t that of a digger to some degree; even the hoity-toits occupying Preds’ Corner had their fair share.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to find a city rabbit without a window box, and I’m no exception,” Judy said, accepting her paws back, “Dad touts the catharsis of agricultural activities for a rabbit.”

Gideon remained quiet as he mulled it over, “And that ain’t stereotyping or anything like that?”

“I deviated from carrot farming as a  _ profession _ , Gid, but I don’t mind keeping an herb garden as a hobby.”

“It’s not unlike farm-foxes keeping chickens or  _ any _ fox doing something absolutely  _ crazy  _ and walking away unscathed,” Nick explained, smirking at his cousin’s glower, “As an example, have you ever tried some off-the-wall recipe and it worked out better than you could’ve dreamed?”

The baker’s ears went erect as he then grinned, overcome with momentary glee, “Well, there was this  _ one  _ time I used tabasco sauce as  _ icing _ , and  _ no _ one noticed until I told ‘em!  The trick was to use peppermint mixed with finely crushed saltine crackers and-”

“A magician doesn’t reveal his secrets, Bangs,” Nick butt in.

“Right, right.  Back to driving.”

“Appreciated.  Now, neither Grav, Magnus, nor Clea can boast such dainty shovels as these,” he continued with a gesture to Judy’s paws, “I can understand if they -- like her -- are thorough washers, but theirs are  _ immaculately _ clean, the kind of clean only possible if they refrain from gardening or farming entirely.  Even after all these years, not what one would expect from a food processing giant ‘getting back to his roots’, wouldn’t you say?”

“It certainly sounds obvious after you explain it, Stretch.”

“It really does ruin the mystique, but otherwise I wouldn’t get to lord my observational prowess over anyone,” minutely boasted, “In any case, that’s the first point of interest.  Second, is the severity of his fixation on predator species. He wishes he were a fox, no doubt getting the opposite effect of all that fun propaganda,” and then coughed, “excuse me,  _ cautionary tales _ \-- about how nasty foxes are when we are actually the  _ most _ rad.  Truth, Bangs?”

“Preach it!”

“Hallelujah; be it a lie, may lightning strike me down,” he proclaimed while holding out his arms, and then continued after a patient, esophageal prompting from Judy, “Anyway, before I continue with my assessment, I have a question.  When you smelled Grav’s breath, did you detect any vomit?”

“Little bit, which I guess  _ is  _ odd because adults shouldn’t be puking from bugs.”

“Yeah, I have a few prey friends that eat  Bug Burgas from time-to-time without any adverse effects.  Like Bo said earlier, it’s  _ bird _ meat that induces vomiting in bunnies after childhood,” reported Judy, and then a trepidation gleamed in her eyes, “Nick, you’re not implying what I  _ think _ you’re implying, are you?”

“Depends,” he said vaguely and propped an elbow on the armrest to set his cheek on its knuckles, “Am I implying that Grav chokes down bird meat?  Yes, yes I am.”

Judy gagged and held her mouth.  “Sweet cheese and crackers…”

The stouter fox grimaced vocally, “That sounds  _ awful _ .  Why would he do that to himself?”

“I thought I smelled it earlier today when Grav attempted the up-in-my-grill approach, but I figured he ate that quote-unquote ‘pheasant’ at the restaurant and couldn’t keep it down,” Nick explained.  “For most of the day, I assumed him a fluffy little ball of spite but hearing what he had to say on the subject of predators altered my theory a bit. What if he really  _ is _ what we peg him to be?”

“Psychotic?” Gideon remembered.

“Bingo.”

The bunny seemed to collect herself as the intricate gears turned between those long, keen ears, “But he’s the son of a psychiatrist, so any psychopathy would be weeded out  _ way _ before he got into the public school system.”

“Except signs point strongly to Clea’s previous identity as Dr. Lapis of noted pred-therapy infamy,” he countered, and let the observation hang in the air before continuing, “Knowing what we know about Grav and his parents, I would like to present the next point of interest: Grav is in possession of Gideon’s muzzle from pred-therapy,” he then watched as his cousin stiffened, “You okay over there?  Because I will  _ not _ tolerate another nervous breakdown while you’re driving.  Remember, I  _ specifically _ instructed Carrots to smack you if you did.”

“N-no, I’m fine, jus’ unsettles me, is all.  You can keep talking.”

“Good,” Nick said, “So, Grav also hinted that  _ he _ was there to see everything that caused all those scars under your fur, which is an entirely different layer of wrong.”

“It also implies that Aunt Clea  _ was _ involved with Gid’s pred-therapy,” Judy realized, “Otherwise, how else would Grav get there?”

“A-And it means she made him  _ watch _ …” Gideon added, “Or  _ let _ him watch?”

Nick sighed, tapping a finger to his knee.  “That distinction is moot, if only because they’re  _ both _ horrific.”

“It could determine if his carnivorism is involuntary, like some kind of compulsion, but I don’t want to dig any deeper than need be,” she groaned and rubbed her head, “Okay, so maybe Grav picked up a psychosis thanks to ‘Take Your Kid to Work Day’ with Aunt Clea.  Did you get anything else from what he said, Slick?”

“Mainly that if we need to build a case against Magnus Hopps’s character, Grav should either be our key or surprise witness,” he explained, “You don’t call your own dad a ‘serial killer without the body count’ unless you have a  _ deep- _ seated hatred for him and everything he is.  Which, understandably, one might think is contradictory, but to reiterate, he grew up on stories of the ‘savage fox’ and yet he wanted to emulate one.  Now, I find it hard to believe that with the perception bunnies have and teach their young that  _ any _ rabbit would want to be like a fox -- present company, excluded.  So,  _ why  _ does Grav wish it so badly?  Well, I would like to draw brief attention to what he said while in, perhaps, his truest self that I think anyone’s seen him, and that he has Gideon’s ‘nightmares’.”

“Wasn’t that waxing poetic about my mu-,” grunted Gideon, “My muzzle, though?”

“Unless he was being literal,” Nick postulated, “When I met her, Clea seemed like a normal, stable rabbit, but when I found out about her maiden name and previous profession it sent a cold chill up my spine.  Both she and Magnus are  _ excellent _ liars, could probably fake sincerity while  _ in the process _ of some heinous act; I saw their handiwork in Grav tonight, and I’ll admit, he almost had me fooled were it not for my repeated guesses at his name to loosen him up,” and then added offhandedly, “It’s actually ‘Graham’, by the way.”

“How d’you figure?” she asked, taken aback at such an observation.

“It’s the only one he didn’t bother correcting,” Nick mused, “I don’t get the impression that ‘Grav’ is a nickname, either, but I’m getting off point.  Let’s assume that Gideon’s stint in pred-therapy was  _ not _ Grav’s first exposure to it, nor was it his last since it could be another four years until the whole practice was cracked down on and stopped.”

“What little I remember about it…” muttered Gideon, slowing the van as he pulled off the main highway and onto the unpaved road leading to Preds’ Corner, thusly earning the attention of his passengers, “Is that they took all my clothes away, and I was only allowed to wear the muzzle and a collar on a chain,” he said quietly, “I had to learn what it meant to be ‘civilized’ and ‘evolved’.”

“Oh my gosh, Gid, that’s  _ terrible _ ,” Judy said, pivoting towards him and putting both paws on his arm, “Are we… is this bringing back  _ memories _ ?”

He put his paw on one of hers, “Don’t worry about it, Jude, it is what it is.  Although it got me thinking that Grav’s even  _ more _ messed up than any of us thought.  D’you think he repressed all those memories the same way  _ I _ did but instead made himself believe that he liked it?”

Judy rubbed his knuckles a moment before sitting back on the seat, “It’s possible that Grav thinks acting like a predator -- by eating meat or even  _ wearing _ the muzzle -- will get Aunt Clea’s attention, since he probably wants  _ nothing _ to do with Uncle Magnus.”

“Points for the mommy-issues, no doubt he wasn’t hugged enough as a kid so neglect and hatred is all he knows, but I wouldn’t necessarily say that he discards his dad,” Nick pondered, “He wants what Magnus has: power, influence… I daresay even Clea herself.  We could be looking at something of a spoiled prince eager to usurp the king, but knows he can’t just  _ do _ that, so he plays along with the dirty work, waiting for the right time to stab him in the back.  As I told Bangs, Magnus Hopps is penthouse-level information which I, as a lowly street-trawler, am  _ not _ privy to, but I’d bet my tail that all Grav needs is the right reason to spill  _ everything _ he’s got, so long as it puts him on top in the power vacuum.”

“Come to think of it…” the rabbit wondered, that clever gleam flickering across her violet eyes, “Mr. Big could know something about a prolific businessmammal like Uncle Magnus.  I don’t doubt that with his and Finnick’s expertise we could uncover a smoking gun.”

“Sly bunny, using your underworld connections for the greater good,” grinned Nick with a rub of his chin, “We might not be on the case in any official capacity, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do some prep work beforehand for a streamlined investigation.”

“Stop the presses; I think Nick Wilde is putting forth effort without immediate reward!” Judy exclaimed.

“ _ Au contraire _ , the reward that  _ I _ get from all this is the superb satisfaction of nothing less than living one of Mr. Foxglove’s spy adventures,” he boasted in good humor, “And helping those in need, of course.”

“How altruistic of you,” she said with a downy punch to his arm.

A thoughtful groan followed the drumming of claws on the steering wheel, “So would that make you  _ Mrs. _ Foxglove, Jude?  If you were a vixen, I mean.”  He then chuckled and gave her a big, if bashful smile, “I wonder how you’d look as one, all pointy-eared and bushy-tailed…”

Judy’s long ears went warm as she tried in vain to hide them from her partner’s sharp vision.  She snapped a glare over her shoulder and gestured at her neck using a swift cutting motion at the word “vixen”, even grunting disapproval in the hopes to emphasize how much she wanted Gideon to cease talk on such a subject.  It was, of course, too late as she scrunched her face in a cringe at Nick’s high, accusatory gasp. She peeked out one violet eye to find his smug, victorious grin mere inches from her cheek.

“Oh,” cooed Nick, “that  _ is _ too cute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found out that horses can grow mustaches, so of course, the paternal Mr. Longmare needed one.
> 
> Brady Zippa, Brett Paddy, and Bruno De Yae are based on the Br'er characters (rabbit, fox, and bear, respectively) from "Song of the South"; their first names each beginning with "Br" (for "br'er") and their last names combined resemble "zip-a-dee-yay", the followup to "zip-a-dee-doo-da".
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kick the dirt off your heels and take a load off, you deserve it.  
> Crack open a cold one and have a nice cup of tea, you'll need it.  
> Close your eyes and settle back, you got it? Jus' relax~  
> It's been a long road and ev'ryone needs a break, once in a while.

Driving along the moonlit country roads that lead to a backwater chunk of civilization officially named “The Brambles” but locally known as “Preds’ Corner”, Nick, Judy, and Gideon passed a dire bend which claimed a moment of terror, earlier that day.  City-fox Nick rode unsecured in the bed of a pick-up truck with Bo and Esther, and due to the combination of high-speed driving and a nasty bump, was launched through the air and into a deep grotto of the bordering woods. Judy, riding in the passenger seat of said pick-up, did not know of the danger until Bo announced the situation to turn the driver around; aside from some mind-splitting headaches, he was otherwise, and fortunately, uninjured.  Despite all that the fateful bend represented, it garnered  _ no _ attention from the van’s occupants.

“It was a  _ mandatory _ predator sensitivity workshop, Nick,” Judy explained, less coolly than she wanted, but her partner was pushing every button he could on the subject of her self-perception as a vixen, toughened to his jabbing though she might be, “all prey in the precinct participated,  _ including _ Bogo.”

“ _ And yet _ ,” he mused, lounging with whatever space was available in an already cramped van, “and yet of the  _ multitudinous _ species of predators you chose the humble fox.  Isn’t that something, Bangs?”

“Well,” paused the baker, keeping his eyes to the irregular road but also endeavoring to refrain from a discussion while enclosed with it, “I remember what’s said about ‘imitation’ and ‘flattery’,” he began, to which he heard a smug grunt from Nick, “but there was something in there about ‘sincerity’, too,” he concluded, to which he heard a smug grunt from Judy.  Truly, he was glad to talk on a lighter subject either way. “So this ‘Bogo’ guy, ain’t he that buffalo I saw on the news? That boss of yours sure is gruff.”

Likewise, Judy was glad for the diversion of conversation.  “He’s a little coarse, but not  _ so _ bad and actually quite nice once you get to know him; he’s the chief of police, so he  _ needs _ to be tough as nails and twice as sharp.”

“And a  _ total _ Gazelle fan,” Nick added, ignoring the combined snicker and shush from his partner, “I catch his hips shaking to ‘Try Everything’ when he thinks no one’s looking,” and then did a customary wiggling-in-the-seat dance with a wheeling of his fists, “Big guy’s got moves, deny though he might.”

The driver gawked.  “Not in a  _ hundred  _ years could I guess that!” he proclaimed, “It just goes to show, don’t it?”

“Except the cover of Bogo’s book  _ plainly _ reads, ‘The Guff Stops Here’,” joked Nick.

“Which reflects about ninety percent of him,” Judy said with an apologetic smile, “he  _ will  _ bring the hammer down on you if you step out of line.”

“The remaining ten percent is the fun side  _ I _ like to exploit.  We have a game we play, Bogo and I, where he has to find my newest napping spot in the precinct,” he explained with the easy air that came so readily to him, further ignoring Judy’s hissing  _ tsk _ of mild disapproval, “When he wins, he gets my daily report.  When  _ I _ win, he still gets my daily report, but I now have the satisfaction of knowing that he needed help from the precinct’s best ears.  Isn’t that right,  _ Carrots _ ?”

“You  _ will  _ get stuck in or behind something one of these days, Slick, and I won’t come to save you,” Judy half-heartedly warned, “I will instead laugh to myself waiting for the custodial crew to find your sorry tail.  It’s the only way you’ll learn.”

“I don’t learn.  One of my issues,” quipped Nick.  To this, Gideon chuckled and shook his head.  To that, Nick and Judy exchanged quiet smiles.  Coming up on the side of the road was the somber, dark collection of rocks and a single tree which Nick, Judy, Esther, and Bo sat after their lunch date in Preds’ Corner, and not long after that was the somber, dark collection of buildings which might have boasted a nocturnal vibrancy at any other time of the decade.  As it stood, its grave silence washed over the van an ephemeral melancholy, perhaps Gideon most of all, for whom the town was familiar and its nightlife momentous. At his muted sigh, Nick spoke up, “Hey Bangs, after this whole TBR is over and the bunny population returned to manageable levels, how about we go to that… that  _ thing _ with the rhyming title; what’d you call it?”

“The  Prowl & Howl !” exclaimed the excited farm fox, and with an affirming, grateful snap of his cousin’s fingers, Gideon continued, “Oh, you betcha, Stretch.  It’s kinda like a mini, monthly TBR for predators, with food and games and stuff. It’s usually a bunch of us hangin’ around, sometimes watchin’ a movie on an outdoor projector or pheasant hunts in the woods, but every once in a while it’s something  _ big _ .  Like one time, after the Pred-Scare, Hyena Gomez did a charity concert, and there was a potluck, and a bunch of predators even shipped in from the city to join.”

“I was  _ so _ bummed I missed that!” lamented Judy, but then spoke with acceptance, “I understand  _ why _ I couldn’t get time off since I didn’t have much in the way of seniority back then -- I caught it on  ZooTube anyway, but  _ still _ .”

“So  _ that _ ’s what the entire hubbub was a few months ago,” said Nick, adding under his breath, “My community service had me combing Coyote Canyon for trash…”

Gideon continued in exposition about Preds’ Corner as they turned down the residential service road, pointing out each family farm along the way: the Turners, the Catmulls, the Umbertons, the Tweeds, the Nods, the Kumamoris, the Blackfoots, the Mallupes-

“ _ Mallupe _ ?” interjected Nick.

“Yeah, they’re our nearest neighbors.  Edward Mallupe and Pa were at odds for the longest time, but they eventu’ly made nice,” Gideon explained, spreading a grin across his snout, “They keep those ravens you wondered about.”

“Goody,” cringed Nick, if only for an instant, “I don’t suppose you remember a  _ Mack  _ Mallupe, by any chance?”

“That’d be one of Ed’s oldest,” recalled Gideon, “He left for the city  _ years _ ago; up and disappeared into thin air… kinda like Aunt Jackie, I guess.  And the youngest is Mallory, but we all call her ‘Lory’…” and then thumbed his steering wheel a bit, “How d’ _ you _ know Mack, anyway?  Ev’ryone’s wondered, and a bit worried, as to his whereabouts.”

“Yes, how  _ do _ you know Mack, Slick?” asked Judy, wholly unsurprised of the fox-cop’s spontaneous knowledge of an obscure wolf from out in the sticks, considering he apparently entered the city and thus into Nick’s sphere of influence, as though earning enough proximity to ping off Nick’s biological WiFi.  Frequent were the boasts of “knowing everybody” in Zootopia, such to the point that Benjamin Clawhauser, as an in-joke, gifted him for his birthday a small stack of business cards reading simply:

**Officer Nick Wilde**

“I know everybody”

They turned past the “GREY” mailbox, the bend at another fateful junction.  It was at the end of that driveway which young Gideon stood in trepidation after the Carrot Days Festival when his and Judy’s destinies forked as a river down two sides of a mountain only to join once more at the base.  Its gravity went largely unnoticed as they awaited Nick’s brewing answer.

His fingers steepled with a thoughtful hum, fanning and then folding to touch at pursed lips, indexes tapping as his green eyes shined with recollecting ponderance.  He remained silent save for quiet grunts as they rolled up the dirt stripe cleaving a silver lit lawn. “That  _ is _ a pickle,” he finally answered, well after Gideon’s van idled and the engine was at last turned off.

Judy blinked at such anti-climax, expecting --  _ hoping _ \-- for another insight into the fox’s tangled web of urban lore, “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he affirmed disinterestedly and popped open the passenger-side door to step onto bare ground, twisting some life back into his spine with exaggerated jerks of his torso.

“That’s  _ not _ ‘it’,” Judy defied, scooting along the seat hurriedly to follow her partner, habitually locking the door on her way out, “You  _ know _ who Mack Mallupe is, Nick, I’d bet you even know him  _ directly _ .”

“It’s honestly  _ nothing _ worth talking about, Carrots,” he admitted with a smirking shrug, “I only know that Mack Mallupe -- of whom  _ some _ might associate the name of ‘Sparrow’ -- is a modern-day pirate whose ‘high-seas’ is the darknet.  Now, you didn’t hear this from  _ me _ ,” he continued, leaning in with a false whisper and even erecting his paw to emphasize how  _ hush-hush _ such information was.  Gideon, of course, scampered over to hear what he ‘didn’t hear’ from Nick, “but Finnick may or may  _ not _ have learned everything he knows about computer use from Mack.  Maybe.”

“Wait… ‘ _ Sparrow _ ’?” gawked Judy, “As in ‘ _ The _ Sparrow’?”

Once again, Nick shrugged his disinterest with an unsure grunt, “If you invest much into the gossip of Internet forums; I know  _ I _ don’t.”

“Oh my gosh, all the behavioral profiles on Sparrow are  _ wrong _ ,” she realized and touched her mouth, “They’re  _ miles _ off point, literally, over two-hundred  _ miles  _ off point.  The best they could figure is he’s an antelope from Ficus Grove.  This is  _ huge _ !” she declared, and grabbed Nick’s shirt as though to shake him down, “If you know how to find the Sparrow-”

Nick stood upright with his paws folded professionally behind his back.  “Carrots,” he said in continued professionalism, looking down at her as she nearly dangling from holding onto his shirt near the collar, “I would  _ never _ betray the confidence of someone who may or may not be a close associate of mine,  _ especially _ not someone who is  _ definitely _ a close associate of mine.  Besides,” he berated and carefully released her paws from his borrowed wardrobe so that she might stand before him crestfallen, “we are off-duty, out of our jurisdiction, and have enough on our plates without facing down impossible challenges, so quell your obsession for a night, Carrots, and let’s take advantage of this chance to  _ relax _ .”

Gradually, her ears went up again, arms crossed and head tilted.  “You look weird taking the ethical high ground,” teased Judy.

“It  _ feels  _ weird,” he agreed and smacked his lips, “It’s mixing with that emotional outburst from earlier that I can  _ still _ taste.  Maybe I  _ am _ turning into a bunny…”

Gideon’s shoulders and belly shook with hearty chuckles as he twirled keys around a finger on his way to the front door.  Behind his back, Judy and Nick once more exchanged satisfied smiles, hers more in relief and his in gratitude. With a click of the lock and an effortless push of the wooden slab, the Grey house was opened to reveal a golden-lit living room, cozy, quiet, and empty.  “Essy, we’re home!” Gideon called in joy, blue eyes sweeping to find a half-open laptop sitting on the kitchen table beside an either cold or empty teacup (as there was no steam wafting up from it). “Essy…?”

Green eyes and tall ears scanned as Nick slipped in, taking in necessary info through narrowing pupils and flaring nostrils; grunting with inward analysis, he hunched only momentarily before standing upright without a hint of concern.  Judy remained near the door, for her auditory assessment needed both inside and out for adequacy, but she, like her partner, detected nothing amiss.

“Essy!” cried Gideon, clapping his cheeks and catching his breath with a frantic swipe of his puffed tail that the bunny opted to dodge, “The darknet took Essy-!”

“No, no, Gid,” cooed Judy, cradling his elbow, “Listen to me, okay?  Esther’s  _ fine _ , she’s probably taking a bath right now, maybe she wearing her headphones.  In fact, I’m  _ sure  _ I can hear her down the hall.  Let’s go check, okay?”

“Y-yeah…” Gideon finally whimpered.

“And,” Nick swiftly added, “It’s worth noting that there are  _ no _ signs of a struggle.  See?” he said with a broad sweep of his arms that evolved into enumerating gesticulation, “Esther’s a kickboxer, right?  If anyone came for her, there’d be overturned furniture, holes in the wall, broken glass, all such things you’d see from a fight.”

“Yeah…” he repeated, shuddering, “b-but there’s none of that, so she’s okay?”

“That’s  _ right _ ,” the taller fox said in his most soothing tone, closing the distance between them in the short time he spoke until he could look the stouter fox in the eyes, waiting until they focused on him before he continued.  “Now, we’re  _ breathing _ ,” he instructed with an appropriate, gathering gesture to further demonstrate his own slow intake of air.

Gideon inhaled.

“And  _ out _ .”

Gideon exhaled.

“ _ There _ , nothing to worry about,” cooed Judy, guiding Gideon away from the door so Nick could shut and lock it, “Let’s go find Esther, down the hall, in the bathroom.”

His steps were stiff at first, almost dragging along the floor until his paw pads lifted to renew use of his legs.  “Okay,” Gideon mumbled, repeated a few times with calming breaths, heading towards the kitchen table to slump into a sturdy chair and sink his face into a pair of readied palms, though not from shock or grief, it seemed, but shame.

Nick and Judy stood nearby, unsure for the moment what to make of the new emotional reaction; she took a step forward but halted to the paw on her shoulder, and glanced up to a quietly shaking head that soon nodded down the hallway.  The rabbit smiled sadly, quite sadly at Gideon before nodding in response, and nodded a second time in confirmation after Nick leaned in to whisper so low that only her acute hearing could pick it up. “Take your time.”

“I’ll go get Esther,” announced Judy.

“Okay,” Gideon mumbled again, face moving from his paws to his folded arms.

The bunny muted a sigh and scurried out of the room.

* * *

Nick jutted his jaw to watch the lazy breath of a forlorn fox, such positioning he’d recognize anywhere as profound disappointment in oneself.  Unspoken, the taller fox walked further into the kitchen while his cousin stewed, spotting the softly steaming teapot set to simmer on the stove; from there, it wasn’t hard to locate some spare mugs with which to pour hot water into.  Esther even had the courtesy to leave out an opened box of  _ Trill Grey _ tea (aptly named for such a situation).

“Hey,” said Nick, setting down one steaming cup of tea at Gideon’s elbow while  _ he  _ sat in the adjacent chair, “Lookin’ kinda glum there, Bangs, considering we got that nasty whipped cream business behind us.  What’s up?”

Weary, blue eyes peeked to see the beverage his nose and ears already knew of, but only hid his face again.  “Like you don’t already know,” he muttered into his arms.

Nick blew on the tea before lifting it to his mouth to test its temperature, but when it was too hot to even put near his dark lips he set it on the table instead.  “Despite what I lead everyone to believe, I am  _ not _ psychic and I actually  _ do  _ respect the feelings of others, but if you really want, I’ll explain this  _ ennui  _ rather than hearing about in your own words,” he conversed, reaching over the table to acquire a jar of honey, which Esther was courteous enough to also leave out for them.  “Before I do, I’m sure you recall when I bullet-pointed my first impression of you -- a resounding success, I might add -- so I’ll ask again,” he said, tapping a spoon against the mug’s rim after stirring honey into his tea, “What’s up, Bangs?”

Once more, eyes of blue not only in color but of deep lament lifted to the probing green, Gideon’s brow knitted and ears pinned with severity.  The head lay down again but on his crossed arms. “I know the darknet didn’t take Essy,” he admitted weakly, “I must’ve sounded so  _ stupid  _ but I couldn’t stop myself sayin’ it, I guess because I was scared I lost her and jus’ couldn’t handle it…”  He pointed at the spoon, which Nick handed over, and dragged the honey closer. “I mean…  _ I’m _ safe, at least for tonight, because they still need me at the pie eating contest tomorrow, right?  But they could’ve taken Essy to stop any funny business, ya’know?”

Softly blowing on the tea, Nick cradled the mug and found that he could at last touch the lip to his own, nostrils flaring patiently as he breathed in the scent before softly sipping.  He quietly trilled at the taste and arched his brow as he looked to the dark brew, even letting his tail wheel behind him once (and only once). Eyelids hooded, he observed Gideon scoop honey into his own tea, and a muted clink of metal to ceramic provided the only stepping stones to span that awkward silence.

“How d’you do it?” he asked, voice dragging along as his feet did not minutes ago.

“‘Do’ what?  I’m multi-talented and can do  _ many _ things, so you’ll need to specify.”

“Be so  _ cool  _ about ev’rything.  You prob’ly see me and think, ‘Lookit this big, dumb farm fox, needin’ his paw held like some baby-kit…  How’s I ever get such a cousin?’. And then there’s you, slick, big-time city fox, so sly he prob’ly knows what I’m ‘bout to say before I know m’self,” rued Gideon, no longer stirring the spoon but only twirling it in the tea, “It’d be better if I weren’t a part of this whole thing… aside from being the cause of it all, I mean.  We shoulda told Essy this mornin’, Stretch, at least  _ she’s _ city-fox enough to help, not some doughy bumpkin like me.”

Nick sipped, listened… granted, out of his comfort zone and unsure what  _ he _ was thinking when he volunteered to act as Gideon’s emotional support; blood relation only goes so far, after all.  If this were Bo, he’d shove every inch of tongue he could into his own cheek and tell the bunny to “Sly up, fox right”, and give him such a thorough bushwhacking that his tail would likely break the sound barrier in the process.  The muscle-headed rabbit could handle such encouraging abuse, all things considered. But  _ this _ … this borderline catatonic bundle of nerves bound up in scarred flesh required  _ professional _ help (or the next best thing in a pinch, Judy Hopps).

_ What would Dad do? _ pondered Nick, and recalled from his youth when the older fox leaned back in his chair and conjured up some fantastical story paralleling the current situation to wrap everything up in a nice moral.   _ Maybe if I lean back far enough and fall, I could get another laugh out of Gloomy Gid… or freak him out and get a repeat of Friday night, complete with mouth-to-mouth.  What would  _ Mom _ do, then? _  The answer was, Nick realized, right under his nose; literally, under his nose.  He looked at his delicious, honey-sweetened tea and then at Gideon’s untouched beverage.  “Drink your tea,” Nick said not unkindly,  _ You giant, pouting baby-kit _ .

Gideon peered over the edge of his folded arm with a frown and furrowed brow.  “Why?” he eventually defied and uncharacteristically nudged the cup away from him.

“Because I went through the trouble of making it for you, and you put honey in it,” he chastised, commanding what little authority he knew how and hoped it was enough, “So drink it, or it’ll go cold,” and sipped in punctuation.

Blue eyes glared back at green -- those exact same “Savage Greens” his Ma had; if there were any proof that he and Nick were related on his mother’s side, it was those eyes -- and felt his defiance waning.  Yes, he alluded to being a “baby-kit” but always Nick treated him like an adult, up until that instant. “Maybe I’ll have m’self something  _ stronger _ ,” Gideon finally responded with what little defiance he could still muster, “I know where Pa keeps some  What’s Bruin? ; it’s microbrew, but sometimes he splurges, and I think after today-”

“Tea first, Gideon,” Nick reminded pointedly, “and stop slouching.”

Another glare, if lesser, and the stouter fox straightened his back to retrieve his rejected offering of a hot drink, gripping firmly around the mug’s handle in a languid sip.  He wasn’t going to admit it to Nick -- and likely didn’t need to -- but the honeyed tea helped, so much so an airy sigh relinquished when he reached up to run fingers through his disheveled bangs and smooth them out.  Gideon’s ear flicked as the adjacent chair creaked, and glanced over as the taller fox casually leaned on the hind legs, keeping a knee propped against the edge of the table.

“To answer your earlier question,” Nick finally said after his cousin’s third sip, judging primarily the time taken to savor its taste and the resulting sigh, “I’m so cool thanks to years and years of practice.  Admittedly, my time as a kit wasn’t half-so-harrowing as a psychotic bunny rabbit gunning to villainize me, but I had my share of antagonism.”

“I thought about hurling Grav across the playground  _ so  _ many times,” Gideon said, “It would've been easy, too, but I knew Pa wouldn’t like it if he found out.”

“Not to mention the hundreds of bunnies who’d tattle on you if you did.”

“It crossed my mind.”

“When I was a kit, my dad would leave for extended lengths of time,” Nick continued, arm extended to set his half-finished mug of tea upon the table before narrating to the room as a whole and the audience of one, “John Wilde apprenticed under some prestigious tailor in Downtown, which meant he was assigned a lot of work for little credit; since we lived in Conifer District, it also meant a two-hour commute, assuming all the buses and trains lined up properly.  He was the tailor’s best, so when a big-money client needed a bespoke suit, John Wilde was called to assist,” he paused and addressed Gideon directly, “‘Bespoke’ is tailor-speak for a custom suit.”

“‘Bespoke’ is a fancy word that means it’s very expensive,” the farm-fox relayed with a smirk, “According to Pa.”

“Very expensive and takes a long time to make,” the city fox smirked right back, “For a fast worker like Dad, up to a week or ten days.  Some nights, it was only me a Mom. Other nights, due to her own skill as a seamstress,  _ she _ was called in to speed up the process because the Wildes worked  _ very _ well together.”

“I guess, that’s when ya’ stayed with yer dad’s side of the family, huh?”

Nick scratched under his chin as he slung an arm behind the chair’s back, letting his seat creak as he marginally rocked to-and-fro, “Not as such.  You see, other kids all had their relatives -- even Finnick had an aunt or uncle -- but it was only a party of three for us Wildes. Fun factoid: ‘Wilde’ is old Zootopian for ‘without extended family’.”

“Wow… really?”

With a sharp clunk of his chair’s front legs to the floor, Nick laughed and backhanded Gideon’s arm, “No, of course not,” and pressed on at a snorting roll of blue eyes, “While Gnu York boasts the freshest and most immigrants in Zootopia, those that travel up the Lion’s Tail river eventually find the Conifer District, so our neighborhood was a melting pot of predators from different cultures; when I needed babysitting, I stayed with any one of such families.  Sure, I learned lots of neato languages and customs, but it wasn’t all lollipops and cultural diversity.”

“Now you’re gonna tell me a li’l  _ fox _ wasn’t welcomed with open arms.”

“Even though back in  _ ye olden _ times, a fox was considered a good omen because we found the safest places to hunker down.  Go figure, right?”

“Color me  _ surprised _ .”

“They tried to find other fox families, of course.  At face, the parents were accepting, after all, Mom and Dad wouldn’t entrust my safety to someone they didn’t know.  Their  _ offspring _ , however…”

“Ran ya’ through your paces, huh?”

“That’s a nice way of putting it,” Nick mused, “Really made me appreciate having my parents around.  As I said, I lucked out and didn’t bunk with anyone like Grav, but on that same token, I was an easy target for larger predator kids.  So, as they say, I learned to ‘sly up, and fox right’ real quick,” and took a sip from his tea.  _ There _ , he thought,  _ that should do it. _

Gideon hummed introspectively and indeed seemed less troubled as a single clawed finger tapped to the table.  “I s’pose I really only have myself to blame,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Why?” Nick inquired with a drawling emphasis on the ‘h’.

“I could’ve gone to Ma or Pa at any time, but even as young as I was I wanted to handle Grav on my own… I guess I always stubborn like that,” he chuckled softly, “At least they were there at the end of the day, and of course, there was Essy, even though she was a pain-in-the-neck and bossy.”  He huffed, “But then it kinda spiraled and I didn’t want them finding out what all I did.”

Nick shifted in his seat, reclaiming the single degree of composure he let slip through his fingers, “Does this have something to do with what Grav said Judy said, that thing he put up on a plaque?”

A response was not quick to come, only a slight swirling of tea in its mug.  “Yeah,” he finally admitted, “It never felt  _ so _ bad, what he was doin’ because Jude believed in me… and she was the  _ only  _ one that did after a while… but then she said  _ that _ and something snapped.  We were kids, we didn’t know better; it still hurt when she said it, though, and since I was older than her I understood what it meant, so it jus’ hurt more,” and shrugged, “I couldn’t help bein’ a fox, so I was gonna be the fox ev’ryone thought I was… I guess Travis egged me on, but it’s not his fault.  What I did is what  _ I _ did.”

“Yet your parents  _ never _ found out until Carrot Days?”

“May not look it  _ now _ , but I could be pretty sly as a kit.  And I guess all the prey parents were too scared to confront ‘em about it,” he then chuckled again, “Pa can be pretty intimidatin’ without tryin’ to be.  Even bigger preds gave him a wide berth sometimes.”

“And his eyes  _ really  _ change from blue to gray, as Esther’s do,” Nick wondered aloud.

“I ain’t seen it too much but I bet you can guess  _ when _ ,” Gideon said, exchanging a knowing glance with his cousin, “Though the way Ma tells it, Pa was hotheaded in his youth, got into lots of fights before he came up north, but he left that all behind him.  Now, if he ever gets really mad, he’d turn away to stare and sniff at his paws like there were had somethin’ growin’ on ‘em. I ain’t ever seen him bare fang or raise a claw to anyone… unless it was a hammer on a nail.”

“Or watching soccer,” Nick added with a grin to a chuckling response, and tossed a thumb into the living room and the TV-facing chair; the grooves caused from white-knuckled claws were -- undoubtedly -- known to them both.

“So what about Uncle John, Stretch?  You know so much about my Pa, but I know  _ zilch  _ about yours,” he asked in palpable eagerness.

“John Wilde, as I’m sure you can expect from  _ my _ father, is a fox of many talents,” Nick began, grinning no less than before, “Tailor, storyteller, acrobat-”

“ _ Acrobat _ ?”

“Oh yes, he was quite nimble in his prime and is still plenty limber nowadays (according to Mom, at least).  You wouldn’t know it looking at him  _ now _ , thickened out as he has,” Nick explained using broadening gestures around his chest and midsection, “It drove Mom up the wall every time he leaned back in his chair, and he could not only keep balance but  _ stand up _ and  _ walk _ the chair around the kitchen on only its back legs; and then he’d do it on the  _ front _ legs.  But here’s the kicker: I’d be sitting on his shoulders the  _ whole time _ .”

Gideon stifled laughter.  “Yer kiddin’! Oh, if Aunt Jackie is  _ anything _ like Ma she’d be all puff-tailed and glarin’.  Y’see,” he chuckled, “Pa had a habit of throwing me ‘n’ Essy  _ high _ in the air and then catching us; sometimes he had to dive for us.  We loved it, but Ma weren’t too thrilled, I can tell ya’ that much.”

Nick joined in the catharsis of shared merriment, watching as all the telltale signs of nerve and anxiety melted away to jiggling bulk.   _ Silly me, I should’ve known I was the right fox for the job _ , he mused,  _ Good thinking on my part. _

“Uncle John’s got his own shop, I think you said, so I figured you’d be right in there helpin’ him instead of hustlin’ those ‘Pawpsicles’,” Gideon remarked, and then held up his paws to read a sign, “‘Wilde & Son Tailoring’.  Now I know what you’re thinkin’, ‘Gid, how can you say that when  _ you  _ aren’t a carpenter like your Pa?’,” but his smile and paws drooped when he spotted Nick staring at the ceiling with his head hung over the back of the chair, frowning.  “Stretch?”

A response was not quick to come.

“I mean,” fumbled Gideon with a recovering twiddle of his fingers, “I think you also said something about that night specifically, when the shop opened up and bein’ muzzled, which would… umm, what’s the word… ‘associate’?  Yeah, you’d associate one with the other, but your parents helped you through it, didn’t they?”

A response still did not come, beyond a leaden sigh.

“Oh…” he said and slumped back in his seat, paws around his tea once more, “I-I’m sorry, Stretch, I didn’t mean to pry, but I figured them hearing about something like  _ that _ , they’d be a bit more… I dunno…”

“I didn’t tell them what happened that night.”  An awkward silence returned to the table, but there was no clinking spoon to disturb it this time.  Nick peered upside-down at the empty hallway expectantly,  _ I know I implied to not rush, Judy, but feel free to barge in at any time _ , and then looked once more to a pursed-mouth Gideon.

A glance flickered up before the stouter fox’s dark lips moved in speech, “Well, you can’t have kept it for longer than I kept  _ this _ from  _ my _ parents,” Gideon figured while pointing at his back, “They still won’t find out until Thursday… maybe Friday, give ‘em a chance to get in the door, and all.  Essy will know tonight, though.”

“No, Gideon,” Nick said, idly scraping his claw tips across the finished wooden tabletop, “they still don’t know.  I never told them. Not in all the time living under their roof, not since I reunited with them after fifteen-plus years.  Never.

“I thought I could handle it,” he continued when the quiet chaffed too coarsely, “I thought I was to blame, so I tried to fix it,” and drew an invisible circle on the table for no apparent reason than to affix his attention elsewhere.  “If I made my own scout troop that could trust me, then that should do the trick. Made sense at the time. But it was only me and Finnick, and he couldn’t afford a uniform, so we made and sold Pawpsicles to fundraise for it. This went on for a while, but eventually, a cop found us and it just so happened that  _ his _ son was not only a Junior Ranger Scout, but in the same troop I was  _ supposed  _ to be, so he knew I wasn’t going to meetings,” he coughed and looked at a rapt Gideon, sitting back with a stretch of his arms, “Let’s just say he  _ misinterpreted  _ our intentions.”

“What’d he do?”

“‘Do’?  He went to our parents, of course.  I managed to convince him that Finnick had nothing to do with it, only helping me sell the Pawpsicles, so at least  _ he _ was let go.  As for  _ me _ …” and he sighed, cupping his snout to rub it, “I knew I couldn’t convince the cop that I wasn’t some shifty little fox, so I didn’t correct anything he said about me skipping out on the meetings, using the uniform for personal gain,  _ blah blah blah _ , but I still couldn’t bring myself to say that I was muzzled.  As if I needed to dig myself deeper, right? Not if it accused the guy’s  _ son _ of something so awful.

“Things were looking pretty bleak for young Nicky Wilde, but I knew I could bounce back; I was good at that.  Except when the officer left, my Mom and Dad looked at me with such  _ disappointment _ .  We didn’t even leave the entryway after the door closed.  I told them that the troop didn’t accept me; I was crying and apologizing with a  _ slew _ of naïve rationale… and in my hysteria, I mentioned the uniform that Mom worked so hard to pay for as the big reason for doing what I did.  That’s when Dad knelt down, took off my cap, looked me right in the eye and said without even raising his voice, ‘Nicky, that uniform can be purchased from a catalog; trust cannot’.”

“ _ Ouch _ , right in the soul,” Gideon winced and clutched his chest.

“Suffice to say, my world shattered.  I was to go to bed without supper, dessert, bedtime story, and I was grounded until further notice,” Nick continued matter-of-factly, “I laid awake thinking about what I did, why I got in so much trouble, and it occurred to me that it wasn’t what the prey kids did to me, it was that I lied about it.  I lied to  _ them _ about it.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the one thing foxes don’t do to each other,” came an apologetic reply.

“It was… late, I forget the exact time when it happened, but I felt like I could come forward, that if I told them I was muzzled, and that’s why I tried to hide it, maybe they’d understand.  I couldn’t possibly get in any worse trouble, anyway. So, I tiptoed down the hall and crouched at the top of the stairs when I heard them talking in the kitchen. And then Dad called himself a ‘hypocrite’,” Nick paused and sipped at lukewarm tea, wondering if he should go through the bother of reheating it.

Gideon’s brow furrowed severely as he blinked.  “He called  _ himself  _ a ‘hypocrite’?”

Nick nodded.  “He used such a word to describe the tailor he worked for  _ plenty _ of times, so I understood what it meant, and yes, I was as confused then as you are now, and as curious.  So, I crept down the stairs, careful not to hit any of the squeaky floorboards so that I could get to the kitchen without my parents knowing.  The rest of their conversation up to that point was a blur, but I remember them looking at me as I would at them if they caught me reaching into the cookie jar.  They asked why I was downstairs, but they wouldn’t listen when I said I had something to tell them. While I could hardly string more than two words together since I was fighting back tears, I managed to say that I wanted to tell them the truth… and then they asked  _ how _ they were supposed to trust me.”

Gideon looked prepared to extend a sympathetic paw but didn’t.  He seemed ready to express some condolence or encouragement but didn’t.  Maybe he couldn’t.

“Don’t worry, Bangs, it’s all in the past,” Nick assured, “The next morning, Mom made pancakes, so I think she was trying to make amends which I, as a kit, wanted more than anything.  It was tense in the Wilde household for a while, but I earned their trust again, and by ultimatum of the officer that ‘if he ever saw me in that uniform again’, it was stored away; I managed to swipe the handkerchief, though, which I kept in my pocket to spite him.

“All was mostly well until I turned…  _ twelve _ , I think, and puberty hit me like a heaping sack of awkward.  It didn’t help that it was one of those times when Mom and Dad had to suit-up some high-falutin’ client.  I  _ begged _ them to take me along, just that one time, because hey, I was practically an adult, right?  But nope, I had to stay behind again, and this time for almost a month,  _ the _ longest of them all.  Finnick and I kept up our honest business of Pawpsicle sales for some spending money; there was no crime in that (especially when we gave that particular officer and his son ‘free samples’).  But in that month my parents were away, we expanded, making more, selling more, using his business acumen and my charisma -- unrefined, though we were -- to buy low and sell high, even branching into products beyond frozen treats.

“It was then that I really started resenting my parents,” Nick stated, “You know how they say, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’, and ‘Familiarity breeds contempt’?  Well, I took that differently and either enjoyed when they were gone or pretended they were. Figures that they didn’t have any more clients that called them away, after that,” and seemed, for a moment, to wonder on the irony before continuing.  “I learned to detect lies by watching my Dad and Mom; I was convinced they could  _ smell _ dishonesty, and the more I thought about everything they said to me, the more it felt like  _ they  _ were lying to  _ me _ .  There were times when they were  _ covered _ in tells with no correction or confession afterward.  While I didn’t have any solid evidence to go on aside from a gut feeling and raging biochemistry, it was like they’d been lying to me my entire life, and yet had the  _ nerve _ to say they couldn’t trust me.”

“Tha’s kinda short sighted, if you don’t mind my sayin’.”

“It was  _ dumb _ , Bangs, plain and simple.  Anyway, I didn’t mention their assumed deception, only sulked and was generally angsty; ‘that’ll show them’, or so I thought.  And then I turned seventeen, and felt like I could own the world… if only I weren’t controlled by my parents. So, I grabbed all the stuff I wanted to take with me, shoved it in a bag, and left to go meet up with Finnick, who was eighteen at the time and had a van.  Before I left, though, I wrote ‘BYE’ across the whiteboard Mom kept on the fridge, all caps, triple underlined, and in permanent marker to  _ really _ get my point across.  That was the last time I saw them face-to-face…” and brought the remainder of his tea up for a final sip, but then grimaced, “Eww, it’s cold.  Didn’t you say there was some  Bruin stashed around here somewhere?”

“Oh, um, sure,” Gideon said and took up both emptied mugs (as well as the teacup left behind by his sister) to the sink for a quick rinse.  From the looks of it, aided by his readily transmitted state of mind, he was still processing all he received and, as was his way, busied himself through menial activities, such as general tidying of the kitchen.  “So, you been away from them for years,” he finally said, “Why go back Friday, of all days?”

Nick scratched through the fur on his head with an introspective grumble.  “Why  _ not  _ on a Friday?  Fridays are great days to do things, especially when you have the day off.  It was what happened on  _ Thursday _ that I decided to see them again, though.  That big, blue, buffalo-butt boss of mine struck a chord with me, and it felt like my entire life just  _ flipped _ onto its head,” he explained with a wild gesticulation of a spinning paw.

“I guess it was some kind of backhanded compliment or somethin’?”

“He called me a ‘decent cop’, believe it or not.  Judy called me the same once, back when I was but a simple civilian consultant on the Otterton case, and a few fellow officers did as well in my time at the precinct, which was more tongue-in-cheek I think, but to hear it from  _ Bogo _ \-- of all mammals -- felt like I finally accomplished my lifelong dream of being trusted and accepted.”  The guard Nick carefully maintained had lowered as he drifted through a retrospection that, at least for the time being, clouded the fact that someone else was within earshot.  “It reminded me of a promise I made to my parents as a kit, and I realized that whatever they told me or didn’t tell me, while it  _ hurt _ , hating them for it hurt even more.”  He then cleared his throat to reassume his default levels of snark, “And I refuse to turn into one of those, ‘If only I told them when I had the chance’ types.  That is  _ far  _ too much emotional baggage to hold onto.   _ Blech. _ ”

Gideon leaned on the counter, simply looking at his cousin with his cheek on a fist.

“Yes?”

“You opened up a whole lot to me t’night, Stretch.”

_ So I did, _ he smiled,  _ I will need to learn this black-belt degree of innocent disarming, it could prove quite useful _ , and shrugged, “Well, I know all about the scars on  _ your _ back, it’s only fair that you know about the ones on  _ mine _ .  Tit-for-tat, as it were.”

The farm fox chuckled, “I guess so,” and turned to retrieve something from the fridge.

Nick peered down the hall, ears flicking as he heard girlish giggling and muffled glee.   _ I see, having yourself a jolly time while I’m out here opening old wounds and baring my very soul, _ scoffed Nick _ , _ and then jumped when a heavy something landed on the table in front of him.  He stared and frowned at an aluminum tube -- amusingly, one that he could probably shove Judy into -- emblazoned with the caricature of a smiling bear logo and the unmistakable words of the ‘ What’s Bruin? ’ microbreweries.  He poked it to confirm its existence, and then glanced over it at the second can Gideon popped open with a bubbling hiss.  “Bangs,” he said flatly as his cousin gingerly sipped cider with one paw, “This is bear-sized.”

“Yep,” came a nonchalant agreement.

“As in, ‘sized  _ for  _ bears’.”

“Tha’s what it means,” he grinned, “If you can’t finish it, I’m sure Essy or Jude can help ya’,” before noisily sipping.

With hooded eyes and an unmistakably, unamused half-frown, Nick kept his gaze on the other fox in the room as he reached for the pull-tab to crack open the brew.  “A point of curiosity,  _ why _ does Goliath have bear-sized beverages; is he in the habit of entertaining bears?”

“Sometimes the Kumamoris visit, or ya’ jus’ have bigger preds like the Catmulls, but I think the real reason is that Ma allows him only  _ one _ can when he drinks,” Gideon explained with a tap of his index finger, “So, he only  _ has _ one.”

The taller fox grunted approvingly and tilted the can to nurse it.  His brow quirked at an audible gulping, watching the farm-fox continue to hold  _ his _ cider in one paw and swig it, before setting it calmly upon the table with a self-contented grin… to which a single, momentary glance was paid to Nick.  This, Nick could not abide, so he cradled a can which he could not fully get his paws around to lift it, and then tilted his head back far enough to ingest without spilling, idly wondering how he managed to get into such a situation.  “Whew!” huffed Nick, setting the brew down perhaps a bit heavier than intended, “Heady stuff.”

A warm, contented hum wafted from Gideon as he propped himself up on his elbows, “Thanks, Stretch.”

“For…?”

“Helpin’ me.”

“Of course; we are family, after all, it’s what family does,” he paused,  _ Even if -- in the context of this  _ particular  _ conversation -- it could take a while. _

“I really weren’t sure if I could tell Essy,” he admitted, if quietly, “but I feel better about it, now.”

“Well, hot tea plus cold cider equals liquid courage,” grinned Nick, “Ancient fox recipe.”

“Hey Blue,” came a familiar, casual voice from immediately over Nick’s shoulder, eliciting a sharp yelp and raised fur, “Why is it whenever Judy and I go do something by ourselves,  _ you _ hit up the watering hole?”

His paw gripped securely around the can, even slouching a bit to rest an elbow on the tabletop, “Again with the sneaking,” he critiqued, not bothering to even glance over his shoulder with a half-hearted sneer, “Bangs, how long was she behind me?”

A pair of arms wrapped around Nick’s neck in a grateful embrace as her nose touched to his cheek with a soft kiss.  “I came in at the part about family helping family,” Esther explained. Green eyes blinked, darting from the vixen to a pair of amused blue eyes whose brows arched in a facial shrug.  Nick’s splayed, warm ears relaxed in the resulting situational equilibrium as her arms moved to fold atop his head as though he were furniture. “So what’s this you weren’t sure to tell me, Giddy?” she wondered aloud.  It was the blue eyes’ turn to blink and dart from vixen to greens, which in turn did  _ not _ play at unspoken snark or challenge, but exchanged a knowing look.

“Cherries, have a sit,” Nick suggested to her and guided the  Bruin a bit away from him.

“That serious, huh?” Esther replied, and when she took a step back to sit where her laptop remained at the kitchen table Nick reached up to cradle her wrist.  The taller fox looked up at her, fur freshly blow-dried and unbrushed, garbed in a workout tank-top and jogging pants, and slid his chair out to rise from it in offering.

“ _ Here _ would be best,” he said soberly, holding the back in one paw and gesturing.  Esther was visibly stunned by the severity of the atmosphere, so obvious in the demeanor of one fox and the other, but she cautiously accepted the seat as Nick pushed it in for her.  With both Greys comfortably positioned, he stepped next to his cousin and gripped the sagging shoulder, which promptly squared, “We’ll be right outside,” he stated with a thumb jutting towards the back door of the kitchen.  Nick joined a patiently, quietly observing Judy near the entrance of the hall, and followed her out when she unlocked the door to exit into the balmy evening, the skyward glare long since waned to give way to starlight, moonlight, and the beckoning mystique of fireflies out in the bordering woods.

* * *

Judy walked with her paws clasped behind her back, not the at-attention of an officer’s stance, but a simple farm bunny’s gait that came with a whimsical half-skip every other step as she went out to the yard.  Nick continued to follow after closing the door, paws in his pockets with the thumbs hooked outside as he kept easy-enough pace. Numerous quips ran through his brain like a movie reel:  _ “That was fun” _ ,  _ “Could’ve gone better, could’ve been worse” _ ,  _ “I think I’m improving on this whole ‘empathy’ thing” _ , among others, yet there was a certain solemnity that followed them in the silence of chirping crickets, croaking frogs, and whispering breezes.

She came to a fence at the edge of the Grey homestead and nimbly hopped up to sit, resting an arm on the nearby post to lean.  He walked up with a swish of his tail and leaned forward, arms crossed, elbows providing all the stability he needed as one leg hooked behind the other.  In this manner, they looked out at similar eye-levels across the night-covered landscape dotted with pinpoints of electric light, leading to one brilliant aura that -- surely -- was the not- _ too _ -far-off fairgrounds, and another, greater one over the distant city of Zootopia tucked beneath the horizon.  Judy’s feet kicked idly and Nick’s tail flicked.

“I can see why Mom left for the city,” Nick finally said, keen nocturnal eyes focusing on the spectrum, “It can’t have been this bright over thirty years ago, but even so, she must’ve stood right here, saw it every night, that distant beacon calling to her: ‘Find me, join me, on an adventure for two’.”

The rabbit smiled, wondering if she should pay his poeticism with snark but didn’t feel it proper at the moment.  “Hey Nick,” she asked, and was answered by a curious grunt, “should we have left them alone? Gid’s been dangling by a thread this whole time.  I understood that driving kept his mind off everything that’s happened, but in  _ my  _ family-”

“ _ They _ need to figure this out, Judy, without anyone else listening in or watching,” Nick interrupted, and looked to her as she looked back, “This way, they don’t need to put up any defenses… they can be one-hundred honest with one another, which is what he needs most right now.  He’s kept his scars secret for  _ years _ , over half his life, and that means he’s done things to keep them from Esther; now’s the time to come forward with all that, and even though he trusts and loves us, if we’re there he might try to put on a brave face.

“Your fur smells nice, by the way, coincidentally the same as Esther’s.  And it’s also slightly damp, coincidentally,” he poised, smirking.

Given opportunity to avoid an awkward question that would lead to an awkward answer -- an exchange summed up in “bunny things are different from fox things” -- Judy ran a paw over the top of her head and down an ear, humming in a capricious denial, “Well, we both know each other’s stance on coincidences, don’t we, Slick?”

“It actually answers how you managed to delay her for so long,” he said, and turned about to rest his elbows on the fence, but looking back at the house, “Relaxing enough, I hope?”

“The tub  _ is _ sized for Goliath, as I’m sure you guessed, so after she drained it a bit I was able to get in in a quick soak.  After all, we got pedicures today, so why  _ not _ share a bath,” she mused and wiggled her toes, “By the way, top-notch ploy with Mack Mallupe, I  _ almost  _ believed that he was really the Sparrow; it’s just too bad Gid’s stress level skyrocketed when he thought Esther was in danger… I honestly thought that little act calmed him down enough.”

“Oh, that wasn’t a ploy,” Nick admitted, “And I won’t say another word on the matter unless it’s to Cherries herself as to  _ why _ she didn’t mention the Mallupe family when she brought me out here earlier today.”

“What!” reeled Judy, pivoting in her seat, “Mack Mallupe really  _ is _ the Sparrow, and you  _ know _ him?”

“Sorry, Carrots,  _ you  _ are not Cherries, so I will  _ not  _ say another word on the matter,” he repeated, holding up a palm and turning his face away.

The bunny’s violet eyes narrowed with a disgruntled groan, but she looked at him sidelong with a forming smirk as she brought up one leg onto the fence with her, “Well, I’m not Esther, but I know why she didn’t mention them,” she said, “I actually asked about Mack in casual conversation -- to confirm your story, as it were -- and she volunteered the information without knowing it.  Apparently, she  _ knew _ him before he left.”

Nick gave his own sidelong glance, setting his jaw with an introspective growl, “I’ll bite.  You share yours, I’ll share mine.”

“You first.”

“Fine, if only for your admirable, fox-like behavior,” he commended, “It was around the time I got on Mr. Big’s naughty list-”

“With the skunk-butt rug?”

“Yes, that.  Anyway, Finnick and I kept on the lowest down low we could get down on, which meant we beelined for a safe house in Acorn Heights known only as ‘Granny’s’.  Along the way, we ran into Mack, claiming to know who we are and had a better course of action than straight-up hiding. Now, the age difference between us and him is about the same as between you and me, so of course, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to accept his sage wisdom.”

“ _ Har har _ .”

“You laugh, but I don’t hear a denial,” he teased, “In exchange for helping us, Finnick and I helped  _ him  _ as eyes on the ground for potential safehouses.  We saw him only the one time, though, and everything after that was done remotely, usually through a third or fourth party.  Finnick, with his head for figures and foul mouth, took to computer programming like a fish to water, and then we lived happily ever after clinging to the city’s underbelly like a couple of devilishly handsome remoras.”

“So you’ve been harboring a  _ fugitive _ this whole time?” she said blandly.

Nick scoffed and flicked his paw to dismiss the accusation.  “You and I both know the Sparrow’s only  _ real _ crime is evading arrest from that scandal-ridden chief of police before Bogo.  Now, you hold up  _ your _ end of the bargain.”

Judy studied him severely, but sighed in relent, “ _ Fine _ , if only because I like how your eyes glow at night,” she teased, and nudged his shoulder with a foot, “So, you and Esther walked down that service road, right?  Well, after about the third or fourth vague affirmation, she reasoned that you weren’t very interested in her family’s neighbors and changed the topic of conversation before ever hinting at the Mallupes.”

“ _ Typical _ ,” he grumbled and bit on a knuckle, “I almost face-plant into Mack’s origin story yet fall short immediately beforehand...”

“I’m sure the sheen in her fur wasn’t distracting at  _ all _ , either,” she continued to tease, and this time nudged his cheek with her foot, “Walking all the way from Gid’s bakery and lugging a suitcase no less.  Quite the hike, I’d say.” She retracted her foot at the playful snap of his jaws, to which she grinned brighter, “ _ Whoop! _  If we were keeping score, that’d be a point for me, I think.”

He glared, even facing her with an elbow still planted on the fence and a fist to his hip, tail whisking behind him, but he scoffed and permitted a smile, “Sly bunny.”

“She does like you, you know.”

“I know.”

A pause and a dangling leg-swing later, “Fox courtships…”

“ _ Ah ah ah _ , I’m not volunteering  _ any  _ more information, Ms. Nosy-Wiggles,” he said with a waggle of his finger.

“Alright,” Judy replied calmly, and sat upright with both legs hanging down once again, but facing the farmhouse, “Let’s talk about the case.”

“Gladly.”

“I know there was something you  _ didn’t  _ say because it would likely put Gid into a coma if he heard it,” the bunny stated, and could not help but inflect a sullen mood as she looked onwards to the Grey family home.

“We’re jumping right into it, I guess,” the fox said under his breath and pulled out his phone to address it, “When did you figure it out, Carrots?”

“I didn’t figure anything out,” she avoided, and rubbed her feet together, “It’s just… a feeling I have, about something Grav said.”  She glanced over at Nick’s face lit up not with excitement, but as his phone screen illuminated them both.

“I actually saw him in the restaurant,” Nick said, “For only a fleeting second, but he was there… the only bunny in that entire place that dared look me in the eye, even if it was from across the room.  I hardly recognized him at  Phil’s when Bo and I went to get a drink, and I overlooked the encounter until I started thinking about his motive for all this.   _ Why _ he went through so much trouble -- and got  _ into _ so much trouble, considering his otherwise spotless record -- to assure the death of some fox he tormented as a kid when it would have been  _ so _ much easier to stay in the city and never see or hear from him again.

“As we both know, coincidences are rarely ever  _ just _ coincidences, and the fact that Grav drew this on a  _ receipt _ can -- easily -- be dismissed as a matter of convenience on his part,” Nick began, and glanced up to meet Judy’s gaze as he held out the snapshot he took of the receipt from their lunch that day and the drawing of a fox’s face upon a shield with the phrase “ka-poof!” written beneath it.  “How _ ever _ , Magnus’s reaction to the doodle, paired with Grav’s aggression towards Gideon in the holding cell and the fact that he dared draw  _ another _ doodle and leave it where Gideon was  _ sure _ to find it, points to a significance that I, as both a fox and police officer, would be foolish to dismiss.”

Judy nodded in grim agreement.  “Grav went to great pains to keep ears all over Bunnyburrow for the TBR...” and felt the pit of her stomach weigh heavily as that dark feeling dropped into place at a dreaded conclusion.  It did not fill her with fear or trepidation -- never again would she cower to that abyss -- but a determination for a greater purpose, “He wants Gideon’s head as payment, one way or another; but we’re not going to let that happen.”

Nick flicked off his phone to spin it idly in his palm, “We did good, partner, but short of  _ deus ex machina _ , we’ll be hard-pressed to find a way to bring the Psycho Senior or Junior to justice in time to clear those targets on our backs.  Safe as we are for  _ tonight _ , they’re calling in the big guns after the pie eating contest tomorrow, for Gideon especially.”

“We did  _ well, _ ” Judy corrected on habit, but then breathed through her teeth, “And that’s… something we’ll need to work on.  I can wake up early and make a few calls; we bunnies may not be much for the night, but you can bet we’re up at dawn and ready to take on the day.  I’ll see what I can do with the Burrow Watch, maybe set up some kind of protection for you and Gid.”

“I’m absolutely tickled pink to know I’ll be guarded by bunnies,” the fox said dryly, “For the record, we did both good  _ and _ well; I know what I said.”

“Don’t knock the Watch, Nick,”  _ tsktsk _ ’d Judy, “They’re not part of the sheriff’s office but they work closely with it, especially since that whole thing with the ‘Missing Prince’ shook the Burrow from the train bridge to Hares’ Bluff.  Now, I can pull a few strings to-”

Nick’s paw flew up as he hurriedly mumbled over his partner’s brewing plan, “ _ Wait _ , wait wait wait… wait,” the fox insisted.

“ _ What _ , what is it?”

“I think I just found our  _ deus ex machina _ ,” he revealed and gripped his phone as its lock screen illuminated a special kind of crazy in his eyes, the kind that often ran a thrill up and a chill down Judy’s spine.  She scooted along the fence to peer over his shoulder, “Would you say that the good Felix has an…  _ invested _ interest in the wellbeing of the bunnies currently in Preds’ Corner?”

“… _ Yes _ , most if not all of them are from Knotash -- where Felix Lapis  _ lives _ \-- but I certainly hope you aren’t planning to  _ hurt _ any of those bunnies, Nick.”

“‘Hurt’?  Of  _ course _ not, I would  _ never _ ,” he mused and pulled up a text message for Finnick, that as Judy’s violet eyes could readily see, was preparing to encrypt itself, “That said,  _ mischief _ I will readily invoke, but only enough to grab his attention.”

“ _ Nick _ …”

“You worry too much,” he cooed and scratched under her chin, continuing his text message only when she batted at his fingers, “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s what worries me,” Judy glowered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, the flashback into Nick's past included the falling out with his parents from a... an over-the-shoulder perspective, we'll say. The chapter was mostly written but the further along I went, the more I realized that I'd already said everything I needed to say about the past, from a subjective POV, and didn't want to show how that wedge between Nick and his parents formed. Instead, I opted to tell about it with the "I did a dumb thing" method that you see here, thus allowing us to continue with the story rather than continue peering over our shoulders.
> 
> Sugar Rush, as a mobile game, references the arcade game from "Wreck-It Ralph".
> 
> When Nick says "I don't learn. One of my issues", it quotes Peter Quill from "Guardians of the Galaxy".
> 
> Hyena Gomez is the Zootopian mirror of Selena Gomez (she's in Judy's playlist near the beginning of the movie). A popular performer who's overcome one of the longer-standing biases that society has against hyenas.
> 
> The Tweeds -- Tod and Vixey -- reference the foxes from "The Fox and the Hound". They raise chickens like most farm-foxes but their specialty product is "egg white cream", a protein-rich substitute for milk and dairy products otherwise derived from soybeans (a la Clarabelle Wilcow) or almonds. As a beverage and base for cereal, it suffices nicely enough but doesn't work as well in baking (much to Gideon's dismay).
> 
> "Mack Mallupe" roughly translates from Latin as "big bad wolf" and his moniker, "The Sparrow", references Captain Jack Sparrow from "The Pirates of the Caribbean"; Johnny Depp played both Capt. Sparrow and the Big Bad Wolf (from "Into the Woods"). Additionally, Edward Mallupe references Captain Edward Teague from "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End", wherein he is also Capt. Sparrow's father.
> 
> "What's Bruin?" is one of the fun animal puns provided in the Zootopia artbook.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pie is a metaphor.

Gideon sat at the kitchen table; it wasn’t their first table, but the thing was almost as old as he was.  When the family had a new mouth to feed, it meant a  _ new _ table was needed, a bigger and better table, and so Pa built one when the newest Grey was old enough to sit at it.  Gideon liked this table and remembered etching designs into the legs and on the underside with his claws as a kit, and used to do it all the time and on anywhere he could reach but learned  _ real _ fast to only do that on stuff Pa made for the family.  Pa even said he’d make a mighty fine whittler if he kept at it, and got him a small pocket knife so he wouldn’t get splinters caught in the quicks of his claws anymore.  But he turned out to be a baker, a cook, a  _ pastry chef _ (as Mr. H would say), started along by Ma, though she wasn’t a professional like he was, she got him the basics and he went from there.

2 cups flour

1 tsp salt

1 stick of butter

5 tbsp cold water

1 egg

Milk (for brushing the crust)

Ma kept a close watch of Gideon, and maybe it was because she was a wet nurse back in Knottedwood, or because he was  _ her _ first and only kit to birth, but she kept him close most all times, at least until he walked on his own.  Even so, one of Gideon’s first memories -- a blurry memory but a memory all the same -- is Pa’s crying blue eyes.  Why crying, Gideon never knew, but his eyes were wet, his paws were huge, and his nose was close enough for baby Giddy to grab onto (and if Pa used his own son as a tissue without realizing it, the baby-kit didn’t seem to notice or care).  And then there was Essy, well out of her toddling years (but still recovering from what the fox-flu did to her); she regarded her baby brother with scorn, at first, since he was getting all the attention. Ma, being the youngest of six kits, put a quick stop to any of the young vixen’s harrying by including her in all the things they did with the new baby-kit, and of course, if Pa ever held Giddy, he held Essy, too.  Pretty soon, she’d be napping with her baby brother, trying to teach him words, and even gotten it in her head that it was  _ her _ job to make sure he was fed and cleaned on time (though Ma and Pa did all the actual caring for, Essy made sure it was done  _ on time _ , which she might have been…  _ creative _ about, every now and then).

Preheat oven to 400°F

Mix flour and salt in large bowl

Crush butter into dry mix

Slowly add water

Knead into ball

Wrap ball in plastic wrap

Set in fridge for 30 minutes

He loved Essy, as any brother would love his sister.  Even when she would drag him back home by the tail because it was after sunset and Pa already called for him twice.  Even though he could never hold a candle to her good grades and the full-ride soccer scholarship into the city, especially since he was held back a year and had trouble breathing as a toddler due to the fox-flu.  Even though she dyed him bright pink when he was less than two-years-old because she decided she wanted a baby sister, and then shaved him in a short-sighted attempt to get out of trouble. Essy was never his “half-sister”, though; she was always his  _ “sister” _ .  Ma made sure of that.  Ma made sure Essy protected her baby brother, no matter what he did (even if it meant the third-degree afterward).  She was there to protect him from Grav at first, but she couldn’t always be there, by no fault of her own, and those were the times Grav struck  _ harder _ .

Essy was there  _ now _ , though, close enough that Gideon could reach out and touch her, but his paws only gripped the aluminum can of cider like a lifeline.  He’d never been much for drinking for no reason, but a cousin he never knew existed was in town, and that called for a celebration. On the other paw, a day where everything bad in his life came on him like a tidal wave needed something to dull the edge; for all the good it did.  Nick and Jude were already outside, and so outside the conversation, yet there wasn’t a word shared between him and his sister, only flickering exchanges of identically blue eyes.

⅓ cup white sugar

⅓ cup brown sugar

¼ tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

½ tsp nutmeg

3 tbsp flour

6-8 apples

1 tsp lemon juice

Essy’s patience wavered into anxiety and expectation with a prominent throat-clearing.  She always won their arguments.  _ Always _ .  It was like she had answers prepared a week in advance for everything Gideon could or would say.  Like everything he thought was up on a screen for her to read. How he wished --  _ begged _ \-- that she could read his mind now as she always seemed to… how much easier it would be for her to say, “Giddy, I know  _ all  _ about what happened to you, about the scars on your back and head, so you don’t need to say  _ anything  _ about it.”  Then he could break down in a good cry, let all those years of pain and fear flood out his eyes and get it all over with.  To just…  _ lose  _ that weight and accept comfort without coming forward about it.  How easy it would be if she did that for him…

Peel and slice apples

Mix dry filling ingredients

Mix wet filling ingredients

Mix all ingredients with apple pieces

Drain apples for 20 minutes

Heat mixture with 3 cubes of butter until thick

Refrigerate

“Giddy…” Essy finally said, eyes cast down a moment before returning to the pallor hidden under his brick red fur, “I… I get the feeling that this is about why you always wear two or three shirts at a time, thick ones, even on hot days… why you never let anyone get close to you…”  She reached out to squeeze the knuckles on his trembling paw if only to relax its claws from digging into the tabletop.

_ Yeah _ , he gulped,  _ I was so afraid someone would find ‘em, but Jude and Nick found ‘em, and you must know about ‘em, too, but didn’t say anything so to spare my feelings, and tha’s okay _ .  He nodded as his jaw set into place and waited for her to take that burden from him.  She always knew what to say, whether it was to tease or help him. And now, she’d know  _ exactly _ what to say to bring her baby brother back to normal, to make everything alright, just like she always did.  She was a sly city fox, after all, and that’s what she knew to do.

“It took you  _ years  _ to even roll your sleeves up,” she continued, and daintily rest her palm on his forearm, letting her thumb brush under the pelt some, “And Ma would throw  _ such _ a fit about scrubbing caked-on flour from your cuffs.”  She allowed a soft chuckle. Essy held his paw in both of hers as their blue eyes met again, “I know you tried so hard to hide them, Giddy, but Ma, Pa, and I already… we already  _ know _ about the scars…”

Unwrap ball of dough from fridge

Split into halves and flatten out for crust

Use flour to prevent sticking

Cut one half to fit pie tin

Cut the other into even strips

Gideon choked back his breath, unsure what to make of such a revelation, but tears welled in the corners of his eyes all the same.  It certainly made things  _ way  _ easier than he hoped, to know that even Ma and Pa knew about everything, so all he had to do was get through some sobbing and he wouldn’t need to be scared of being found out, anymore.  He was  _ never  _ not a Grey, but now it felt like he could  _ be _ part of the family again.

“We knew if we approached you about it, you’d only pull away…” she lamented, “Every hug, every kiss on the cheek… we always respected your space, but I think that was because of the scars, wasn’t it?”

Remove filling from fridge

Pour into pie shell

Even out with spoon

Brush edges of pie shell with beaten egg

He nodded, sniffing and choking as he waited for her to mention the muzzle.  And the shackles. And the collar. And the whips… all up and down his back, over his haunches and flanks.   _ She must know about those, too, she’s gotta know _ , Gideon hoped,  _ Essy’s sharp, sharper than Nick, and he found those scars in a day’s time; figured it all out the very next day, too.  She prob’ly knows everything about everything, and tha’s good because she’ll take it all away and make things better. Tha’s what she does. _

“It’s because you scratch yourself at night,” she said, and cradled his paw in hers, “The claw marks all over your arms and shoulders, your sides… even on your face,” she sincerely assumed with a quivering chin, “But… it’s  _ okay _ , Giddy-”

Gideon bit his dark bottom lip until it nearly bled, sliding his limp paw from her grasp as he sat up.   _ She doesn’t know anything _ , he realized,  _ I’ll need to tell her everything _ , he dreaded, trembling as the tears welled greater in his eyes.  He bit back a cough and rose violently from his chair, knocking it away as Essy tried to reach for him, even standing up herself.

“Giddy!”

_ They hurt me!  Hurt me real bad! _  Except he only whined and did so with such conviction that it was a muffled scream as he remembered when those scars were fresh wounds.

“What’s wrong?”

_ They tore me up like paper! _  But still, only a whined scream.

“Talk to me,  _ please _ !”

_ Read my mind, like you always do! _  He whimpered through grinding fangs, and then grabbed for the collar of his flannel to tear open the top two buttons, hunching to yank both shirts from his body to show her in the only way he figured she’d understand.   _ Years of shirts, Essy, never without one, even on the hottest days, like you said _ .  Naked from the waist up, he wrung the fabric until his claws began to rend it, heaving, pleading that his brilliant sister knew what it meant that he finally showed what he kept hidden for so long.

Essy looked on in bewilderment and pity, carefully reaching out to grasp and calm his paws again.  “Look,” she cooed, “you can’t see them.  _ No _ one can see them,” she explained, and smoothed out the fur on his forearms, up to his elbow, and even to his shoulder, feeling each flinch until she cupped his cheeks.  “They’re just little scratches, tiny nicks that you must think glow in the dark,” and shook her head, blinking away tears and used her thumbs to wipe away his. “You needn’t be ashamed of them, either; plenty of predators scratch themselves in their sleep, even adults, especially when they’re-”

_ Why now, of all times, can’t you figure it out? _  He whimpered again, and suddenly lunged forward to grab her into a mighty hug, but unlike the familial embraces that she and their parents were so accustomed to over the years -- when they didn’t wrap their arms around him but simply half-hugged with their paws to his chest, and Pa would only sling an arm about his shoulders, careful not to touch his son’s back.  Gideon shrugged one of her arms around his neck and the other around to his back while his own paws clung desperately on her frame.  _ You’ll have to find out like Jude did.  It’s the only way… _

“Giddy…” the vixen muttered, and surprised though she was at such a thorough hug, Esther seized the opportunity to hold her baby brother with all her strength, fingers digging into the shaggy fur on his back and nape to rub, “It’s okay, I’m here; your big sis is here.”  It wasn’t long until the warmth of their reunion drained as her blood ran cold, for even without the training that came standard in the ZPD to detect physical abuse beneath fur through touch (what Judy and Nick knew as the “Bad Touch” class at the academy), she could still feel the wicked scar tissue in places on her brother’s back that he certainly could not reach with his paws alone.  Essy frowned as she traced the lines, hearing the sobs and whimpers before Gideon fell heavy to his knees, forehead against her stomach. “What… what is this?”

Lattice top with strips

Cut excess to fit pie tin

Sprinkle milk over top

Dust cinnamon and sugar over top

“N-n-not c-c-claws…” he wheezed.

“I… I don’t understand,” she began to choke up herself, trembling as she stumbled back into the chair with her brother’s head following limply in her lap.  Reeling to explain how such wickedness came to be on her brother’s back, Essy caressed and sifted through the bangs he got from Pa, same as hers, claw tips lightly raking his scalp -- wondering if a song might help him, as their Ma often sang to them when they were kits -- but grew weak when she felt the muzzle scars etched into his flesh.  It seemed impossible that they were there, but there they were; she’d never felt them before but she’d heard of and seen muzzle scars from select predator abuse cases back at the law firm and tried with all her heart to deny that they existed on someone she cared so deeply for. “Wh-who did this…?”

Bake at 400°F for 15 minutes

Turn oven down to 375°F for 45 minutes

Remove when top crust is golden brown

Allow pie to cool 45 minutes

Enjoy

“N-n-not m-m-me…” Gideon wept.

And wept.

And  _ wept _ .

 

* * *

 

“Don’t grab my ears,” Nick said, “And relax those thunder thighs of yours, I can’t do this without breathing.”

“They’re not  _ ‘thunder thighs’ _ ,” an indignant Judy argued, “They’re lean, powerful legs and for your information, I don’t hear  _ any _ complaints when I do this with  _ Bo _ .”

“That’s because Bo doesn’t have a neck, and he’s wrapped around your finger like a balloon on a string.”

“I give him  _ every  _ opportunity to say ‘No’.  By the way, your ears are hard to grab, all smooth and pointed as they are.”

“And yet, they’re probably still longer than his.  So, you and he do this kind of thing all the time, huh?” the fox asked, looking down in doubt, but willing to try anything once (so long as he can later deny ever doing it if asked).

“With increasing frequency, in fact.  Sometimes I just hop up, sit down, and there we go; he handles it like a champ,” the bunny boasted and hunched over some to ready herself, “We’ve even recorded it.  I’ll admit, doing it like  _ this _ is something of a first for me, and of course, with  _ you _ is a whole new experience, let me just put that out there.  Your dimensions are a bit…” She searched for the kindest way to say it with measuring gestures of his snout and shoulders.

“Long?”

She craned her neck to peer down his back at the slowly swaying tail, “We’ll go with ‘long’.  Alright, ready?”

“I’m not sure  _ why _ I explained how my parents met -- which somehow inspired this outlandishly bunny-like behavior -- but here we are,” Nick answered, and took the first step down onto the horizontal beam connecting two fence posts.  His arms and tail were extended like points on a triangle to maintain balance as he remained as upright as possible so Judy wouldn’t fall off his shoulders, “I’m also certain that ‘acrobatic prowess’ is one of those ‘nurture’ things, as opposed to genetic.”

“Careful…” Judy cautioned, legs loosely locked around her partner’s neck as she kept her core over the top of his head, even pinning her long ears back against her skull to optimize her center of gravity, “ _ I _ ’m not sure why you agreed to do this,” she then responded, a bright smile across her face, “You want to find out just as much as I do, I’ll bet.”

“Well, Dad told this story a thousand times, and it was a little different with each telling.  They always wind up being chased along the edge of a roof, she’s muttering ‘No no no!’ as they get closer to the edge, he asks her if she trusts him -- to which she yells ‘No!’ -- and then hoists her over his shoulder with a ‘Too late!’ to jump off the building.  There’s a long, screaming ‘Nooo!’ as they drop four stories, through an open sewer grate and into a flooded cistern,  _ blah blah blah _ , mated-for-life.”

“Whoa, Nick, there’s a  _ lot _ that happens in that ‘ _ blah blah blah _ ’.  Was it just  _ ‘splash!’ _ and there they are, tie the knot until death do they part?”

“Take my word for it, Carrots, Dad will be  _ more _ than happy to elaborate on certain parts, and Mom will make every attempt to shut him up.”

“Now, see,  _ my _ parents met in a field, pulling carrots,” Judy explained, “Dad forgot basic grammar and thought Mom’s name was, literally, ‘Pretty’.”

“You asked about fox courtships,” Nick teased in a smirk, “Which are  _ so _ much more interesting than what you rabbits do,” until he whooped, arms wheeling to regain footing.  They left the end of the fence section where the stability was more certain, the wooden beam swaying only the slightest margin before they pressed on.

“Easy does it,” Judy again cautioned, eying the next fence post as she lay flatter against Nick’s skull.

“So, since I’ve got bunny on the brain right now,” he poised, recalling Brett’s reaction to Brady’s questionable chivalry, “Is Bo the jealous type?”

“Only as a perception, which I make little effort to refute,” she elaborated, “Coincidentally, it began when he and I were repairing a fence against the road bordering my family’s farm.  A bunch of tail-chasers drove up to make some  _ salacious  _ remarks about me, and then the fencepost Bo was holding just kinda…  _ broke  _ in half of its own accord.”

Nick stopped inching to glance up, “Come again?”

Judy patted his cheek.  “I think Bo was more surprised about it than anyone else there because he apologized for breaking it; luckily, it was one we were replacing.  It got those jerk-bunnies to drive off in a hurry, though.”

“I  _ see _ ,” the fox mused, “Bo is something of a suitor deterrent, then.”

“Don’t ever wish for fame, Slick,” she grumbled, “I could’ve started my own flower shop with the number of bouquets sent me.  It made my sisters  _ so _ envious whenever I visited from the city, but Mom was thrilled to have fresh blooms to put around the house.”

“And that all stopped thanks to one trapezoidal rabbit?”

“Just about, but the rest petered off eventually,” she huffed, daring to sit up when Nick’s balance atop the fence felt sure enough that she was allowed some leeway in repositioning, “He eventually caught wise as to  _ why  _ I would hand him random objects from off the ground if I suspected catcalls and wolf-whistles, cracks him up every time I remind him of it, too.”

“Have you ever heard an all-wolf choir?  It’s hauntingly beautiful, what they can do with howls and whistles,” he then froze as a stiff breeze whipped his tie about and rustled his fur, groaning through clenched teeth and glancing about, as though to keep an eye out for any more wayward winds.

“Steady…” Judy thrice cautioned and lay back atop his head, “Halfway there…”

“I can see that, thank you.”

“Speaking of wolves, how’s the pack at the precinct treating you?  Captain Kela regards me with respect as the first bunny officer, sure, but he doesn’t tell me much,” she admitted, grabbing Nick’s ears suddenly as he whirled around, both vocalizing their concern of toppling before the fox planted himself on the wooden beam once again.  She chuckled nervously but he remained quiet (even if his severe frown belied his inner concern of well being), and released the pointed ears when they flicked insistently.

“Super secret pack stuff, need-to-know basis,” he dramatized, and swung his leg around to put one footpad in front of the other, “I’m also part of their little text-message chat group, which means I let them know how to get into some of the hippest, hottest clubs in the city through my enviable back alley connections, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that a pack of wolves is one howl away should I ever need them.  Plus the occasional gelato run. Gotta have my gelato.”

“Do they still test your sense of smell with arbitrary games of ‘find the speck of pollen’?” the rabbit asked, once more lifting her torso from off the crimson noggin to spread her arms and erect her ears.  The sounds of the night were hypnotic, and while a fox balanced on a fence provided no  _ real _ height advantage that she couldn’t acquire by climbing a grassy knoll, the fact that she was sitting atop his shoulders made her feel taller than a skyscraper.

“Do I win their money in friendly betting pools?  Yes, yes I do. I mean, I don’t win  _ all _ of it, since Alphie keeps betting in my favor  _ every time _ .”

“Gosh, it’s almost like that’s the whole reason he  _ wants _ you in his squad,” Judy teased.

“And here I thought Captain Alphonse Kela wanted to be the first wolf in Zootopian history to induct a fox into his pack (apparently I’m called the ‘alpha’s omega’; who knew, right?),” Nick boasted, “Of course, if I ever  _ do _ get beyond the pack and onto his exclusive detective’s club, I’m bringing you with me.”

She moaned gratefully and hugged her partner’s head, “That’s so sweet of you to say, Slick, but a bunny’s  _ not  _ getting into a wolf pack, much less an all-wolf investigative watch, and I wouldn’t want to disrupt Kela’s group dynamics by elbowing my way in.  When it really comes down to it, I have  _ plenty _ of options to choose from in the precinct that  _ doesn’t _ involve leveraging the Mammal Inclusion Initiative.”

“Hey, if he wants this schnozz of mine, it comes with the best ears on the force.  Period. We’re partners and that’s how it works,” Nick asserted.

With a final step, he rose up onto the fencepost at the end of their balancing act, to which Judy -- indulging in a few, simultaneous degrees of excitement -- unlocked her legs from around his neck and threw her arms into the air with a joyous whooping and victorious laughter.  Nick, seizing the opportunity, straightened himself out as a dismounting gymnast earning the gold medal to fling his long-eared partner from his shoulders and onto the downy heather below. He took his bows, bending at the waist to a phantom audience on the left, and then the right, and then down the middle; with his third bow, Judy sprung up with an airborne kick to the butt to give the fox due comeuppance in the form of his own face full of downy heather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, WikiHow, for the recipe on "How to Bake an Apple Pie from Scratch".
> 
> The scene with Nick's parents was inspired by the chase scene with Aladdin and Jasmine in the movie "Aladdin" with some choice differences to fit the characters and location.
> 
> We are also introduced to Captain Alphonse Kela, based on Akela from "The Jungle Book". Keep an eye out for this one, he'll be back later on in the story.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we've gotten off the fence...

Esther Grey stood in the kitchen.  Her ears were not as keen as Judy’s but they still caught laughter and merriment approaching outside the door, which ceased at the sight of the vixen: arms crossed, weight on one hip, eyes that piercing silver color when her ire bubbled right under the surface.  A cold “Hi” was all she bothered to say.

The rabbit edged in far enough that the tod could close the door; because it was obvious to both that they weren’t leaving for the foreseeable future.  Rather, they stiffly marched to the kitchen table after a directing flick of Esther’s head, and each sat in a respective chair. Judy’s preliminary grunt of explanation was interrupted by a sharp click from the vixen’s laptop upon closing.  Instead, she drummed her fingers on the edge of the table, ears down her back, and awaited Esther’s inquisition.

After weaving her fingers together and pinching her thumbs between the eyes, Esther looked up as the optic orbs were once again blue.  “How long did you know about Giddy’s scars?” she asked plainly; professionally, “That’s why you let us talk privately, after all, because you both knew about them and knew they were more than little claw marks.”

Pausing thoughtfully, the bunny answered, “Only since this afternoon,” with a careful weighing of empathy and formality while running her palms along the table’s edge.  Judy looked up into her friend’s desperately inquiring eyes and continued, “I was hugging around his neck because he was in such an emotional state and needed encouragement and just… stumbled onto them, I suppose.  In the ZPD, we’re trained to recognize physical abuse beneath the fur through touch, as you know, so I recognized his… well, his…”

“His muzzle scars,” Esther quietly finished, to which Judy nodded.

‘It wasn’t a…  _ great _ leap of logic to figure out what made them,” she continued, guiltily, “and knowing that  _ I _ … I’m so  _ sorry _ , Esther.”

The vixen looked to her dear rabbit and touched the woven fingers to her own mouth, only managing to say, “It’s okay Sweet Tea.”  Given the chance for recovery, she turned to Nick and presented the same question but unspoken.

Nick sighed and rubbed his chin, elbows against the table to gesture openness with his paws.  “I found them last night,” he began and immediately held up his palms to placate the flash of silver in Esther’s irises, “When I was snuggled against my will because we were forced to share a bed, I then chanced upon the scars trying to pry myself from his clutches.   _ In my defense _ ,” he emphasized, holding up his index fingers, “there is never a good time for the ‘I think your brother was tortured as a kit’ conversation.”

Had he struck her cheek, Esther might have handled it better.  “As a  _ kit _ ?” she wheezed.

The officers exchanged a worried glance.

“During his predator therapy, right after Carrot Days,” Judy explained calmly, if with uncertainty, “Didn’t Gideon say-?”

“No!” barked Esther, “He didn’t ‘say’ anything!  All I got out of him was that  _ he _ didn’t make those scars.”  She buried her face into her palms, fingers raking the long bangs as her tail tucked against her legs, “I thought… I thought he was just scratching himself, all this time, and that maybe those… those  _ horrible _ scars on his back… and his face… I thought they were more recent…?  Maybe I mistook those scars for some other injury, or he was jumped during the Pred-Scare and never told anyone about it…”  And so Esther looked up again, pulling the veil of rationalization from her eyes, “‘Tortured as a kit’…” she repeated, “and  _ we  _ sent him off… we  _ let _ them do that to him…”

“Cherries…” said Nick.

“Sissy…?” asked Judy.

Their simultaneous request for attention went mostly unheard as the vixen’s fists struck the tabletop in a thundering echo that silenced not only the house but the sounds outside, as well.  “If I  _ ever _ find out who did that to my Giddy, I will…” she began, her fierce, silver eyes burning holes into the wood.  Judy shrunk in her seat, barely peeking over the surface. Nick was already half out of his chair, ready to bolt for the door.  The sudden movement did, at least, catch Esther’s attention, pausing her long enough to relax her paws and fold them, sitting upright once again.  “…I will bring the full force of the law down upon them,” she stated professionally, coolly, and then nodded with decision.

The officers exchanged another worried glance.  Regardless, they slowly returned to their seats.

“Forgive me that was wholly uncalled for…” rued the vixen, touching her forehead with an unmistakable slouch in her shoulders.

“If it’s any consolation, the table is still intact,” responded Nick.

“Neither of you deserved that, though.  You’re absolutely right, Blue, even if you  _ did _ tell me about Giddy’s scars -- the full extent of them, I mean -- I either wouldn’t have believed you or slapped you across the face for bringing up such a painful subject.  So… thank you for letting him come forward with it. I’m sure you both helped him come to terms with them, and for that, I am eternally grateful.

“I’m just… I’m angrier at  _ myself _ than at anyone else,” she admitted, chin in her palm as he looked at her closed laptop, “All this time… I can’t believe how utterly  _ blind _ I’ve been… and I call myself a defender of the innocent…  How many times has Giddy tried telling me? Or Ma and Pa? And we brushed it aside, that he was being awkward or standoffish… or that he blamed us for sending him there in the first place.”

“All this time and Gid  _ never  _ said  _ anything _ ?” asked Judy, duly incredulous.

“Only what he recited about ‘pent up rage and aggression’ or ‘self-doubt’.  Nothing seemed…  _ wrong _ , like,  _ glaringly _ wrong.  I’ll admit, his emotions could run a little close to the pelt, but-” she gestured to herself, “It’s kind of a  _ Grey _ thing; we’re…  _ passionate _ , but we’re not violent.  Apart from Carrot Days, he never actually  _ injured  _ anyone, that’s why Pa was so upset when he heard about it.”

“So, he really  _ did _ keep everything bottled up inside and never communicated how he felt?”

“If I might interject here,” Nick suggested, for the benefit of their rabbit friend, “That’s not  _ too _ out of ordinary, generally speaking.  I assume that even though city foxes and farm foxes are geographically different, our mannerisms are alike, and as foxes, we are sly and invest heavily into trust.  Yes, while ‘Don’t lie to or keep secrets from other foxes, especially family’ is something of our credo, I understand that there’s some -- shall we say --  _ leeway  _ as to what constitutes as ‘communicating’.  For example, I left the keys on the dashboard of Gideon’s van, assuming he would pick them up.”

Esther’s spirits lifted the slightest as she allowed herself to recall a rosy past, “I remember Ma would rarely ever call us for dinner, only set the table, intentionally loud, letting the smell of warm food draw us in for the meal.  If we didn’t eat, the food went cold and stored for later. Pa was a bit more… overt, about certain things, like when we were supposed to be inside after sundown.”

“And before the fog rolled in?” grinned Nick, to which the vixen giggled, spirits lifted a little higher still.

“He’d yell for us twice, and if we weren’t inside by then, he’d go out and get us, which meant a firm swat under the tail from Ma and an early bedtime.”

“Fox parents are especially insightful of their kits, you see,” he explained to a distantly gazing Judy, “In most cases, when we’re young, we’ll wait to let our parents figure out what we did or what happened to us -- which they almost always  _ do _ \-- but it’s never so bad as, well, what happened to Gideon.  Where  _ is _ the blue-eyed boy, anyway?” he asked, craning his neck some to glance about.

“Dead asleep in his bed; just  _ collapsed _ flat on his belly, arms spread… he’s still not wearing his shirt, if you can believe it,” and couldn’t help but exchange a smile with Nick, from whom an amused, solitary laugh was spared.  “We talked a bit after he calmed down, though… not a lot about his scars… he apologized for keeping them a secret, and I told him it was ‘okay’,” she then scoffed at herself. After a sigh, she continued, “I asked how he managed it for so long… Giddy said he ran through pie recipes in his head when he got upset.”

“So,” Nick added to steer back some levity, “he’s insensible until morning, then.”

The vixen waved her paw dismissively, “I already banged on a pot in his room but he barely stirred, so Giddy’s out like a light for some hours at the very least.”

Judy returned from her reverie.  “Wait, so never in the  _ sixteen years _ since he got out of pred-therapy did Gideon  _ mention _ his scars, and he didn’t  _ say  _ anything about them tonight?”

“We’ve been over this, Carrots, foxes-”

A fierce finger thrust in Nick’s direction, “Okay, stop it with the ‘fox this’ and ‘fox that’ stuff, Slick, because this is a  _ mammal _ thing.  Esther,  _ how _ did Gideon respond when you asked him about his scars?”

Taken aback, the vixen blinked in recollection.  “Well, he was quiet ever since you two left, until I suggested the scars were from scratching himself, and then he just went…  _ ghastly _ , like all the blood drained out of him.  He  _ flew  _ from the table and started whining, trying to scream but wouldn’t open his mouth, or something.”

“‘Wouldn’t’ or  _ ‘couldn’t’ _ ?” Judy poised.

“Snark is great in all occasions, but  _ really _ ,” Nick argued but the rabbit’s paws were quick as she stood in her chair and clapped his snout shut.  He looked at her blandly in the resulting seconds of silence, “Is there a point to this?” he asked out the corner of his lips.

The bunny simply tilted her head and flicked her ears in anticipation as she kept those fingers locked around his mouth, only releasing when his eyes lit up and looked directly into hers.  “Kinda like a muzzle, isn’t it?”

“Oh, now that  _ is _ crazy…”

“Think about it; he never, ever  _ said _ anything.”

“Right, because if I came to you with a gash in my side, I wouldn’t say, ‘Hey, Carrots, you’ll never guess what  _ I _ ’ve been up to’-”

“You’d be more like, “Help, I’ve been stabbed!’.”

“Hello, I’m still here,” Esther informed as she looked back and forth between whatever unspoken conclusion the two seemed to share.

“Cherries, you said that when Gideon came back after those three weeks in pred-therapy, he felt…  _ different _ , right?”

“I  _ did _ say that, and after what I found out tonight, I can imagine  _ why _ .”

Nick pointed at the laptop.  “Is that still connected to  _ the _ archives at  Bagh & Little ?”

“ _ Yes _ , but it’s confidential,” she answered, “and if you think I haven’t already tried searching Giddy’s name for  _ any _ hints-”

“They wouldn’t have his name on there, he’d be too young and wasn’t convicted of any crimes,” Judy swiftly explained, hopping from her chair as Nick came around the table to flank Esther, “Slick, do you know anyone we can look up?”

“Whoa,  _ whoa _ ,” Esther denied, holding up a palm to both, “Let’s not forget that it’s  _ confidential _ , and unless this has a direct connection to Giddy’s pred-therapy, I’m not even  _ risking _ the betrayal of trust in my law firm by letting either civilians  _ or _ cops without a warrant snoop on private records.”

“I have two names that spring to mind, but they’re from over twenty-five years ago-”

“I don’t care if it was a  _ hundred _ years ago, I’m not-”

“What if they were mental health release forms for a closed case?” asked the bunny.

“Now, see, that would make them  _ public _ records, a completely different kettle of fish.  Give me those names,” the vixen readily said, throwing open the laptop to bring up the browser of the remote server.

“First name: Okami, Aiko,” and then spelled it out for her benefit, “Now, you ladies brace yourselves, because what I heard is that predators came back from there ‘ _ broken _ ’.”

“Our shining knight,” Esther endeared, crossing her arms as the archives took their time loading.  Soon enough, the profile picture of a petite, fair-furred wolf appeared on screen, whose bearing was polite yet strong in the face of what was certainly utter defeat.  “Says here she attacked a Protective Services agent with a lethal weapon after he tried to take her pups into protective custody,” the report read.

“Aiko lost one of her pups to a hit-and-run some months prior,” Nick exposited, standing upright but leaning on the back of the vixen’s chair as he studied the wolf’s face, “She never really got over it, but her mate and other pups kept her going and she  _ was _ improving.  In accordance with family tradition, the Okamis erected a small shrine in honor of the one they lost, which they burned incense at every now and then.  The dad, Youta, worked for the city and invited a new hire to bond over dinner, I guess; well, that greenhorn saw the burning incense and heirloom sword on display but reported back as ‘open flame and dangerous implements’.”

“So, it wasn’t even that they were  _ predators _ , but a cultural misunderstanding?” the bunny asked.

“In a manner of speaking.  I recall told that the new-hire was an antelope, so maybe he jumped to conclusions about the family of wolves,” and shrugged, “Anyway, the report was filed without Youta’s while  _ he _ was away at work, so PS came in to take the pups away without his knowledge until it was too late.  Aiko flipped and brandished that heirloom sword to protect them, ironically enough. Suffice to say, Youta was  _ furious _ , but the damage was done, so to speak, so he pulled some strings to get his mate out of the frying pan-”

“And into the fire.  They put Mrs. Okami away for guarding her pups,” the bunny said, could believing the words coming out of her own mouth.

“When she got home, she kept a garden of silk flowers that were watered and pruned regularly,” he continued, “Last I heard, she  _ is _ doing marginally better with some  _ real _ flowers.”

“And Aiko Okami never mentioned what happened in pred-therapy?” Esther asked and wilted to Nick’s shaking head.

“Did she ever mention Dr. Lapis?” asked Judy.

“Who?”

“A shadowy name back when I was a kit,” Nick said, “Fell off the face of the planet shortly after I heard about the second name.”

“We have reason to believe that my Aunt Clea -- or ‘Dr. Cleopatra Lapis’, before she was mated to my Uncle Magnus -- worked as a psychiatrist for pred-therapy,” Judy elaborated, and went on to further explain, “probably to sign them off as ‘sane’ for their return to society.”

“Really,” Esther coolly mused, and flicked the touchpad of her laptop to send the files scrolling through the Okami case until they reached the very bottom, “Then, surely, such a signature should be in here  _ somewhere _ , shouldn’t it?  Patient release forms are around… there we go.”  The three leaned in to study the large “C”, followed by a long, horizontal strike, and a large “L”, followed by a shorter horizontal strike.  “This  _ does _ discharge one ‘Mrs. Aiko Okami’ from psychiatric care.”  Attached was a profile picture of a female wolf sharing Aiko’s fur color, but whose faltering posture, disheveled pelt, and a dead, glassy-eyed stare cried of a broken spirit.

Judy sat through gory crime scene footage without flinching; stood over a coroner’s freshly opened cadaver and never so much as gagged; remained as cool steel in the presence of overt violence; but her heart wrenched, seeing what remained of the mother wolf.  “What  _ happened _ to her?” she pleaded.

“The initials match up, at least,” Nick pointed to the signature.

“Wait,” said Esther, and brushed the touchpad to scroll up a bit higher to reveal a telltale logo at the top of the sheet, “This is a release form from Cliffside Asylum.”

“ _ Why _ …?” groaned Nick, throwing his arms up and pivoting away from the computer.

“That’s where Lionheart hid all the ‘savages’,” she air-quoted, “during the Pred-Scare.  I was still in law school when the PredaTherp scandal hit twelve years ago, but I remember that Cliffside was one of a dozen different hospitals involved in it, yet it was the only one shut down.”

“‘Structural integrity issues’, so goes the official story,” Nick scoffed.

“It makes  _ sense _ , though,” Judy pondered after she recalibrated to the matter-at-paw, “I remember hearing some of the senior officers talking when Bellwether’s victims were evacuated from Cliffside, and apparently the place was  _ designed _ to house ‘vicious predators’.  It sounded like an obvious observation at the time but they must have been talking about the asylum’s  _ original _ intent.”

“I know it  _ ‘makes sense’ _ , it’s the sense-making that concerns me,” the tod responded, half-pivoting back around to lean as casually as he dared on the chair.

Judy hopped up into Esther’s lap and took control of the touchpad, ears forward as her violet eyes focused on the screen, “Let’s see… ‘patient’ has ‘recovered’… ‘bloodlust stayed’… ‘primal urges’… ‘deemed safe for return into civilized society’… ‘healing process’…”  She harrumphed and crossed her arms, even reclining on Esther and crossing one leg over the other as she reread the form.

Nick glanced at the casual intimacy of females, specifically bunnies and those influenced by bunnies.  Esther glanced up at him, elbows rested on the arms of the chair as she leaned back.

“Something on your mind, Blue?”

“Nope,” he denied, “not in the slightest.”

“Aside from  _ flagrant _ anti-predator terminology, there’s no smoking gun in here,” the bunny grumbled and then leaned forward to access the keyboard anew, “We need more data points.  Slick, give me the next name.”

“Oh, please, help yourself,” Esther dismissed, getting comfortable as best she could while someone -- granted, small and dear to her heart -- was sitting on her.

“Sorry, what?” a distracted Nick asked.

“The next name; you said you had two, right?”

“Oh, yes, I might have one or two.”

“So, let’s have it.”

“Pounceski, Alexander,” Nick relented and again spelled it out for her convenience.

“Thank  _ you _ ,” Judy added in a sing-song tone and then tapped the  Enter key to commence a new search.

“Now, Xander was  _ actually _ a criminal, busted for money laundering and about to face a long time in the slammer, but he opted for a lesser sentence by cooperating with the authorities and spending a week in pred-therapy.  A  _ big _ tiger with a mean streak a mile wide, history of violence,  _ et cetera _ .”  The profile image that popped up was, indeed, of a broad-shouldered cat with coarse, snowy striped fur boasting a scarred snout and jaw, and eyes that shot daggers from ten yards.

“I recall Tyler -- his nephew -- told me that he spent all day counting, sorting, and _recording_ Lucky Chomps marshmallows,” the tod said, “Emptied the box only to dump everything back in and repeat the process, morning to night, each and every day.  I saw him at it one time… it was funny as a kit but disturbing in retrospect. He passed away a few years ago… I don’t know if he ever recovered.  What’s his release form say?”

“Let’s find out,” Judy determined and scrolled down to the bottom of the file.  There was the form of Cliffside Asylum with an identical signature. The attached photo was the same set of shoulders pitifully slouched, the same fangs bared but wider in a pained, straining smile, and a set of fragile eyes.  She trembled more at the hollow shell than she ever would at the fierce glower of his ‘before’ image. A sharp breath steadied her gathering wits. “It looks like the same as the other… oh wait,  _ this  _ is new: ‘psycho-correctional procedure proved successful’.”

“‘Psycho-correctional procedure’?” Esther disbelieved.

A critical grunt sounded from Nick’s mouth, “You were right, Carrots, they muzzled those predators with more than belts and metal.”

“Are you  _ serious _ ?” Esther further disbelieved, if on a different matter, “I can understand traumatizing these poor folks to their breaking point, but if you’re talking about what I  _ think _ you’re talking about…”

Judy turned sidesaddle in her friend’s lap.  “Yes; a complete mental rewrite. Outlandish… far-fetched… but Aunt Clea is a  _ Lapis _ , and that’s a lot of resources in all the right categories.”

“Lapis… as in  _ that _ ‘Lapis’?”

“The good Felix, Mr. Hexward himself; whether he knew about her dark dealings or not will be something only  _ he _ can attest to,” Nick said with a cunning air, “The Bunny Once Known as Dr. Lapis must’ve had access to drugs (experimental or otherwise), the know-how to use them, facilities, and I wouldn’t doubt motivation, too.”

“What  _ possible _ motivation could she have-?” the vixen challenged, stopping short by the patient, brilliant violet eyes of Judy waiting for her to come to the same conclusion as she and Nick.  Esther was a defense attorney specializing in predator cases, after all, so it was no rare circumstance to hear that a predator needed “correcting”. While her eyes gleamed to a realization, she continued in her fierce denial, groaning to voice the inner battle of normalcy bias fighting tooth-and-nail to once more veil her vision with a rationalization that worked well in the strict world of Zootopian law.  It spoke volumes against the sheer amount of crazy of such an idea, however, the fun thing about “crazy” is that the reasons which the sane come up to work against it often end up  _ empowering  _ it.  Esther sighed as she rubbed her temples, “Okay, assuming that Clea Hopps is some kind of evil brainwasher,  _ if _ \-- and I must emphasize the gravity of this ‘if’ -- she found a way to ‘fix’ preds, wouldn’t we have seen something about it by now, especially if this atrocity has been going on for over  _ twenty-five years _ ?”

Judy asked Nick without speaking.

Nick answered Judy with a leaden sigh, and flicked a finger to the screen, to which the bunny eagerly turned about in preparation for input.  “Loxley, Fuchsia,” and hesitantly spelled the name.

“‘ _ Lox _ ley’,” paused the rabbit and glanced over her shoulder when she typed it out but did not yet strike the  Enter key, “Is this that ‘Loxy’ who screamed in your ear as a kit?”

“One in the same,” Nick admitted, “Fuchsia Loxley, a thorn in my side since grade school, lording some claim to ‘fox nobility’, so we all called her ‘Loxy’ for short.”

The search commenced and up popped what was a vixen of undeniable, breathtaking beauty and a sly, lofty leer with what looked like the hint of a gemstone embedded in one of her fangs, only visible if grinning especially wide.

“Wow,” Esther blandly commented, “That’s a… she’s a real piece of work, isn’t she.”

“She was so  _ awkward  _ as a kit; wore braces, you know, and was fat… you could rub tree branches on her to get ugly sticks,” he explained, slumping on the back of the chair some as he looked at the profile picture, “I hated her guts with every fiber of my being, but when she blossomed she was the hottest thing on two legs, and she knew it.  Could knock over a group of guys with one sweep of her tail and then keep them on strings down the length of a football field. She could cry  _ on command _ , and with real tears, too.  Loxy was everything good and bad about foxes.”

“A manipulative, lying vamp, you say?” poised Esther.

“Learned it from the best.”

“Who,  _ you _ ?” Judy teased.

“Her dad,” Nick answered, not returning the snark, only staring forlornly at the photograph, “Felix Loxley,” and tapped one of his own fangs, “had a gold tooth, right here.”

The bunny frowned.  “No wonder your eye twitched whenever you said ‘Felix’… ”

“If you hated her so much, Blue, why does it sound like you knew her intimately?”

A long, weary sigh preceded his answer, “Because we hustled together, she, Finnick and I.  Right after high school, I got my diploma and decided that I paid my dues to society, so we assembled into a group of shifty foxes to do what we did best.  Our greatest ploy was the ‘family scheme’, where I was the dad, she the mom, and Finnick our son; she got upset, I came to her rescue… Finnick swiped valuables during the hubbub.  It worked great for years,” his eyes tore from the screen to look at Esther, “I still hated her because every time I heard her voice, I remembered her ear-piercing scream, loud and clear, but we just couldn’t work without her.  I’m pretty sure it made me immune to her wiles. Go ahead and scroll down,” he instructed to Judy.

At the bottom awaited another profile picture, but instead of broken, or scared, or traumatized, or anything that would lead them to believe that  _ anything  _ was amiss; she was a plainly smiling vixen with vacant, happy eyes (and the noteworthy absence of her gemstone).  The females addressed Nick for an explanation and found he returned to his slump.

“One day, Loxy didn’t show.  It wasn’t  _ particularly _ strange because she’d disappear for days at a time, only to pop up out of nowhere, ready for a new scam.  Eventually, her dad found us, half-hysterical, ranting about how ‘They got her, they got her’ and begged us to help him search.  I was torn because while she was a good hustler, she was a bad fox; part of me felt she deserved what she had coming to her. When I saw her again, it was like  _ that _ ,” and pointed at the picture, “hanging on the arm of some awkward pig with poor taste in music.  I knew I would never hear her scream again… oddly enough, the thought saddened me.”

“This case is from just over twelve years ago… she must have been one of the last victims in the PredaTherp scandal,” Judy concluded.

Esther studied the profile and the accompanying releasing signature, “I suppose if no one noticed that anything was  _ wrong _ , then no one would say anything.  And the only ones who  _ would _ recognize that something was ‘wrong’-”

“Were probably close friends and family that might be less than credible,” Nick surmised, “Never saw Mr. Loxley again if you wondered.”

“ _ That _ ’s not suspicious,” sprung Judy’s ears.

“I  _ did _ hear he crawled into a bottle and never came out.  They found him in his apartment after the neighbors complained about the smell,” he said with a scratch of his nape.

“So…  _ not _ suspicious,” drooped Judy’s ears.

The vixen did her own slumping on the armrest, still looking at Loxy’s picture.  “Ya’know, I can’t help but look at her and think, ‘There but for the grace of Aslan goes Esther Grey’,” and wrapped her arms about Judy to hug her close, head resting between the long ears with an introspective hum.

Judy took a moment to lean into the vixen, paws at the ‘gloved’ arms, looking up at her with a smile, and then smirking, “Ruth would rein you in so fast your head would spin.”

“Ma bushwhacks with the best of ‘em,” Esther mused, squeezing the bunny once before releasing her.

Nick returned to his seat and spun it about so that he might straddle the back, arms folded with his chin atop.  “So those are only the ones I know of, but it looks like Dr. Lapis (as  _ I _ will continue to know her as) perfected this ‘mind-muzzle’, of which our beloved Gideon was part of the developmental process  _ for _ .  As Carrots so eloquently put, he  _ couldn’t _ talk about what happened to him, even though it was both brutal and painful.  I don’t know if everyone else involved in this underwent the same torture, but I’d bet my tail they were ‘muzzled’ in the same way.”

“With advancements in psychology and pharmaceutical research, it wouldn’t be  _ too _ out of the ordinary to think that each of these predators were mentally bound to silence,” Judy continued, hopping into her seat.

“Which -- and you can back me on this, Cherries -- was by Gideon’s great fortune to be born and raised a  _ fox _ -”

“Because we’re taught to convey messages without speaking,” Esther mused, speaking more to Judy than Nick, “It’s like a game for fox families to use hints and tells to get their real meaning across.  I never really thought it was anything more than normal talking until I found out that my friends sometimes had  _ no _ idea what I was on about.”

“And you both wonder why foxes are seen as ‘shifty’,” the bunny teased and then stood on her chair to lean forward on the table, thus returning to the present issue for she knew they were far from done.  “I realized that there was something else going on with Gid when he described one of the few memories from predator therapy.”

Esther’s ears dropped and eyes widened.  “He  _ remembers _ something from then?”

“To stack on the horrors, both moral and ethical,” Nick added, “they stripped him down to only a muzzle and a collar to teach him  _ their  _ rendition of ‘evolved’ and ‘civilized’.”

The vixen stared.  “Everything I hear about this churns my stomach anew.”

“Which got me to thinking when I heard about his years of silence,” Judy continued, “Pred-therapy was advertised as ‘correction’ in the modern vernacular-”

“As opposed to ‘tortured-to-death’ in days of yore,” Esther sneered.

“Like there’s anything wrong with  _ being _ a predator,” Nick agreed.

“Well, what they were trying to ‘fix’ was primal instincts, the limbic system itself.  You might as well do a full lobotomy,” Judy swiftly added, “which  _ was _ done in the distant past, but I’m not going into that.”

“How kind,” the tod huffed.

“So, instead, Aunt Clea must have been part of a research group to remove those instincts without damaging the brain.  It involved damaging the body, though, to put predators into such a frantic state of fight-or-flight that they would  _ have _ to revert to base instincts to survive.  Of course, I’m talking about extreme, controlled circumstances,” the rabbit extrapolated, “Nothing that would come up in everyday events.”

“ _ Sheesh _ ,” the vixen scoffed, “if they wanted ‘fight-or-flight’, they could’ve fed those predators Night Howler, no need to flay the flesh from their bones.  I mean, you both saw what Bellwether did with it. One blossom would be  _ plenty _ to run tests on.”

Judy plopped back down into her chair.  “It’s more likely they were given a cocktail of adrenaline, steroids, and probably hallucinogens.  The effects of  _ midnicampum holicithias _ are ephemeral, normally, and it’s only last year,  _ maybe _ two or three years, that it’s been made long term or even permanent through the chemistry of Doug Ramses.”

“Which, actually, brings us to the  _ big _ issue for tonight,” Nick said and turned his chair back around to fold his paws in front of him.

“ _ Oh no _ , it gets  _ worse _ ?” Esther groaned, collapsing momentarily before straightening herself, “It probably involves Giddy, doesn’t it.”

“I’d say that’s  _ one _ plot twist we don’t have to prepare you for,” the tod decided, “which was really my concern in telling you about all this.”

“Gid already knows, and so does Bo.  First, I want to apologize for keeping this from you, Sissy, you didn’t deserve being kept in the dark about this, but as it stands, Gid didn’t have a choice in the matter and Bo was brought in on Saturday out of necessity.  Second, Rachel knows about it, too, we opened up an official investigation-”

“Hold,” came the immediate palm of her paw, “If this is Sheriff Rachel Longmare we’re talking about and this is  _ indeed _ an official investigation into suspicious activity, then any input  _ I _ provide can be legal counsel.  Now,” she continued, and rose from her seat in a rather stately manner, “since you did not come forward with this sooner, and involved an otherwise unconnected private citizen, it’s reasonable to believe that a good deal of this matter is…  _ ad hoc _ ?”

“Well, if you’re going to get  _ technical _ about it…” Nick answered.

“Therefore,  _ we _ are going to do this by the book.  Pardon me a moment,” and swept from the table with a graceful wheel of her tail.

“Does she usually get like this?” he whispered to Judy.

“Cut her some slack, she just found out her brother was whipped and beaten and never came forward about it,” she whispered to Nick.

“This is some ‘putting things right’ spiel, then.”

“And maybe not just for Gid, but the Okamis, the Pounceskis, the Loxleys, and every other predator family that had to pick up the pieces of their loved ones.  If this trail leads back to Uncle Magnus and Aunt Clea -- which I don’t doubt it  _ does _ \-- justice can finally prevail, closure be had, and hopefully prevent future tragedies,” she said with hushed excitement.

Esther returned, toting along a briefcase that she set to lean against the table’s leg.  The flap unclipped and she stooped to pull out a notepad, a recorder, a pen, a set of reading glasses, and a pair of bobby pins.

“I feel like we should be paying you a fee of some kind,” Nick remarked.

“I’ll waive it, since I love you both so much,” she said, setting out her office space assortment and directed her laptop to face her, “However, I  _ must _ stress that while Rachel is legally obligated to listen to each and every claim that comes through the sheriff’s office, if you can’t convince  _ me _ about whatever  _ this _ is,” Esther said, using her favorite writing implement in an encompassing gesture, “then it doesn’t stand a chance in a court of law.”

“Fair enough,” Judy agreed.

Nick complied with silence, watching as Esther smoothed out her bangs to wrap around the bottom of and fasten them to the fur tufts directly behind each ear with a bobby pin.  Though in sweatpants and a tank top, with the reading glasses placed on the edge of her snout she looked about as professional as one could in the circumstances provided. The tod leaned over ever so slyly to whisper something behind his paw to the bunny.  Judy’s ears warmed before she struck his arm near the shoulder with a lightning jab. “Ow,” he said simply and rubbed the spot.

“You probably deserved it.  So, start at the beginning, and when you get to the end, stop,” the vixen instructed, and turned the digital recorder towards the pair with a faint chime to activate it.  “This is Esther Grey, attorney-at-law. Please state your names for the record…”

And so they did.  Nick began with his description of the whipped cream on Friday night, the resulting hallucinations and realization that it was a secret drug test on unaware bunnies with Gideon as not only a patsy but a target.  He explained the involvement of the suspicious rams, Tad and Dent Wooler, the former he crossed paths with on Friday and what he suspected was a front to deal drugs, and the latter coming forward to involve Gideon in the TBR with “supplies from his cousin in the city”.  Judy included the effects of the drug as best they knew, and how they disposed of it and made a new batch with Bo’s aid and Ms. Clarabelle’s resources. She explained how Grav pursued them and sent them the “ka-poof!” message, and how  _ she _ tried the whipped cream herself.  Nick explained how not only did Bo Briar know about the events set in motion, but also how Lanny Wild, a previously unknown nurse from South Lions Gate, provided the antidote to bring Judy back from the brink, and so was brought into the fold, if only for less than an hour.  They explained how Magnus Hopps was their prime suspect, Felix Oswald Lapis and Hexward might be unwittingly involved, and how Grav Hopps provided what amounted to a spy network (and even what was most likely his motivation).

During it all, Esther remained stoic, inquisitive, and challenged them for details or explanation, and worked with them well past midnight.

During it all, Gideon slept.

And slept.

And  _ slept _ .

And dreamt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned a few chapters back, the Foxy Loxy analog for Zootopia is named "Fuchsia Loxley" and is described here in accordance with her appearance in the "Chicken Little" movie; also included is "Runt of the Litter", an awkward pig who is also a Barbara Streisand fan. It's worth noting that, in the movie, Foxy Loxy was brain-washed into a nicer person and hooked up with Runt.
> 
> "The Chronicles of Narnia" movies were produced by Walden Media and distributed by Disney, so as far as I'm concerned, Aslan is fair game as a Disney character. He, as well as the Stag from "Fantasia 2000"s Firebird piece, are recognized as godheads for the sake of Neverwere Moments (there are many others for the various species, but these guys are the big ones, namely, for predator and prey, respectively).
> 
> Esther borrows a line from the Mad Hatter of "Alice in Wonderland".
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this momentary excursion into the fantastical, where will-o'-the-wisps and symbolism dance freely through the air, to rest your minds from the hardships that have passed... and the hardships to come.

Down the hall from where Judy, Nick, and Esther reviewed the case of the toxic whipped cream, Gideon was thousands upon thousands of miles away…

In the Highland kingdom of DunBroch, ruled by the brave Bear King and his wise queen, there lived near the forest a single red fox whose trade was woodcarving -- a noble profession learned from his father and would someday teach to his kit… should he find a mate.  His name was Gideon, and little did he know that his fate was set to change that very day, and it all began as normally as any could.

The sun was yet to crest the horizon, but a fox’s eyes were keen in the dark so the early twilight might as well have been mid morn.  He stirred from sleep and slipped into the faint chill, releasing a yawn and pushing the shaggy bangs from his eyes to approach the nearby washing bowl.  When Gideon saw the threadbare sleeves of his favorite shirt (for it was his only shirt) he grunted and slipped it off, finding fabric worn from use which threatened to rip not only up the arms but also over the shoulders, as well as covering the back in a scattering of tears.

“What a wrecked rag  _ this _ is,” he scoffed, tossing it on the bed to fetch up his tartan and affix it into a kilt, “My brother-in-law will have a word or two about  _ you _ when he gets here today,” the fox warned the shirt, advancing to pick it up again and bring it into his shop so he wouldn’t forget of it.  His brother-in-law was a tailor -- a noble profession learned from his father and would someday teach to his kit -- one of such skill that he could turn sackcloth into the finest shirt, but he was also a master archer and was due to pick up a bow he had commissioned to have magic etched into its wood.

Not only could Gideon carve wood, but also imbue magical properties into it through the etching of runes, so long as he was in the part of the forest where the roots and trunks bent in certain ways.  So far as Gideon knew, he was not the fastest carver or the most powerful caster in the kingdom, but he was the best to combine the two crafts with his steady paws and nimble fingers. With dawn a ways off still, he would need to visit the ring of standing stones one last time to finish the bow.

With a satchel of spare tools, a half-loaf of bread, some dried fish, a bite of cheese, and an apple, along with a small jug of cider, Gideon set off to traverse the woods’ depths to where the magic ran thickest and the will-o’-the-wisps danced on the edge of one’s sight.  After the trail long since vanished and the lost were blessed indeed to again be found, Gideon trod upon a short, stone-lined path up to a gate he’d erected between two nearby trees, and snapped his fingers to flip a posted sign from “OUT” to “IN”; even though the gate was the only boundary there it was a formality that he enjoyed, considering no one else was supposed to know about his second workshop, much less  _ where  _ it was (it’s just good practice to never conjure where you carve, after all).

Sitting himself down with the unstrung bow in the middle of a glen of downy grass and clover, surrounded by a small circle of standing stones, the woodcarver breathed in the early morning air with closed eyes.  When opened again, their natural blueness was even bluer than before, and he could see what on the bow was left to etch. It was a delicate process, for a single groove too deep or wide, even a  _ splinter  _ out of place could ruin days of work.

“Tha’s quite impressive,” a voice from overhead said.

Gideon fell back with a yelp, the ethereal glow of his eyes fading like smoke in the breeze when he swept the boughs above.  “Oi’, show yerself!” he called, rolling to his feet to glare at whom he could not see, and then added, “It’s  _ rude  _ to sneak up on someone who’s working.”

“To think you were so easily spooked,” the shadows slyly replied and from them slipped a figure whose cloak was fastened by an iron sigil on one shoulder, and a bow slung over the other.  Gideon couldn’t mistake the sigil’s triskelion of three bears -- often worn in silver by the royal family -- and the immediately recognizable woodland dress of one of the princess’s huntsmaids.  “Forgive my skulking, but you’re not an easy fox to follow through these woods,” she commended, dropping gracefully off the thick branch from which she perched to pull back the hood and reveal a silver vixen with purple eyes.  “I came early this morn to commission one of your bows, but you were already headed for the treeline. I’ll admit, I figured to track a woodcarver at a saunter but nearly lost you twice.”

“Well,” he paused, considerably less annoyed than before he saw her face, “You shouldn’t be so far in these woods as you are; not even the snakes or owls dawdle too long here.  Who  _ are _ you, anyway?”

“Judith, oathsworn huntsmaid of Princess Merida,” she said, standing at attention.

“I’ll be more’n happy to etch a bow for you, Lady Judith, but not until I finish  _ this _ one and get back to my workshop; so you go ahead and make yourself comfortable, because I’ll be a while still,” he instructed, heavily sitting on the grass to feign indignance.

“I wouldn’t expect an escort out of a  _ forest _ , Master Gideon,” Judith stated as politely as possible and spared a wry smirk as she leaped and climbed up into the boughs to retrace her path, “I’d hand in my sigil if anyone found out about such a thing.”

The woodcarver didn’t bother to stop her, rather sent her off with an affirming grunt, for his eyes were already glowing their bright, gentle blue as he lay out his roll of finely attuned etching equipment.  His claws served well enough for quick touch-up or preliminary work, but sharpened picks and blades were needed for his mastery of craft. After an hour of intricate, dedicated etching, Gideon used a fine brush to wipe away the dust and splinters of the new grooves, blowing as needed before inspecting his handiwork.  It was time for a quick bite, so he rose up to stretch his arms, chest, legs and back from sitting still such a long time. He returned to the gate to lean over it, arms folded in address to the put-off huntsmaid sitting just outside, “Did you want to join me for second breakfast? I’m afraid it’s only some fish and bread.  Not usually in the habit of entertaining guests out here, y’see.”

“Aye, thanks,” Judith grumbled as politely as possible, standing up from the rock she made her seat and crossing the threshold with a frustrated glare, “Why couldn’t I open, climb over, or shout through your gate?  It jus’ seems to  _ ignore _ all the things that gates  _ do _ ,” she harped on, “And I must’ve run into it  _ twenty times _ .  Usually, when I leave a gate and don’t turn around, I don’t come  _ back to it _ , yet no matter which way I went I run into  _ you _ and your  _ gate _ .”

He scoffed, “My gate works  _ fine _  because it  _ clearly _ keeps out distractions while I’m busy.  And you followed me in, so you can only follow me out again, tha’s how it  _ works _ in these woods,” Gideon explained and sat himself down on a log, which he’d carved into a bench some years ago, “Now, did you want some food or not?”

“ _ No _ ,” she huffed, paused, and then accepting the seat adjacent to him, said, “Thank you, but I have my rations.”

“You brought  _ rations _ to see a woodcarver?” and took out the half-loaf to tear it in half again, holding it out to Judith.

“Thank you…” she muttered, and accepted the bread, pushing back her hood before she began to eat, “Gamy magic, not making sense.  Plenty well and good when it’s in stone, metal, and wood, but out and about like it is  _ here _ ?” and stared before she took another bite.  “Is this  _ bread  _ made of magic?”

The red fox chuckled and wiped crumbs from the darker fur of his chin, “In a way, I s’pose it is.  I baked this bread with a log I etched a few runes into that’ll burn all day and night but never go out, and cooks me food when I use it under a pot or in the stove.”

Judith took a moment to process this, and smirked, “Now tha’s jus’  _ cheating _ .  If cooking isn’t your thing, then get yourself a mate; I’m sure they wouldn’t mind a magical spoon that stirs the stew itself.”

His ears warmed at such a fanciful idea as a mate but said, “A spoon that stirs its own stew… now why didn’t  _ I _ think of that…?”

They visited through second breakfast, sharing the fish and cider while splitting the apple and cheese before Gideon got to work finishing up the bow (as Judith remained quiet and patient throughout, so as not to distract what was clearly a delicate process).

“So who’s this for, if ye don’t mind my asking?” Judith chanced, but not before the woodcarver’s eyes returned to their normal blueness.

“It’s for a  _ client _ ,” he said matter-of-factly, wrapping up the finished product to sling the sack’s shoulder-strap across his chest, “and you can expect the same discretion on  _ my  _ part when I make  _ your _ bow.”

“So you really  _ will _ make it, then?” Judith said excitedly if skeptically, stepping out of the workshop at his ushering so he might close the gate and snap the sign to “OUT”.  “It’s not that I  _ need  _ it, I shoot plenty well without magic, but some of the other huntmaids have runes in  _ their _ bows, and do the most  _ amazing _ shots with them.”

“Magic’s not about making you  _ better  _ than you already are, Judith,” he explained, stepping carefully over upturning roots and through deep puddles of foliage, always sure to keep an eye over a shoulder at his charge, “it takes away yer worries and doubts so  _ you  _ can be better by yer  _ own _ strength.  Any spell that does otherwise is no more than  _ glamour _ , meant to  _ trick _ you into thinking you’re something you’re  _ not _ .”

“Wha’s the point of magic, then, if not to do things ya’ can’t?” she challenged, taking great care to always remain within arm’s reach of the tip of his tail, and stepping only where  _ he _ stepped, for straying even the slightest bit might as well put her a half-mile behind.

He grunted as he held up a branch for her to stoop under, “O’ _ course _ magic does things ya’  _ can’t _ ,” and stepped forward to once more take point of their return trek, “I’m talking about things ya’  _ won’t _ do that it doesn’t, or  _ shouldn’t _ .”

“How’s  _ that _ make sense?”

“How’s it…?” he grimaced, and turned full on her with waning patience, “ _ Fine _ , I’ll give you an  _ example _ : that ever-burning log of mine?  It keeps the workshop and house warm all year ‘round, and also cooks me food so that I can focus on my trade without  _ worrying _ about preparing proper meals.  It’s not that I  _ won’t _ cook for myself, it’s that I  _ can’t _ dedicate myself to my craft  _ and _ get bent out o’-shape wondering what to have for supper,” and then gestured to her, “D’you suppose  _ you’d _ be good enough to be one of the princess’s huntsmaids if  _ you _ had to worry about baking yer own bread each day?   _ No _ , tha’s why the castle has a  _ kitchen _ staffed to make meals for ev’ryone who lives there, aye?” he postulated, “So that they can focus on guarding, hunting, cleaning, ruling, or whatever all else one  _ does _ in a castle.”

Her paws set to her hips.  “ _ Oi’ _ , no need to bite my head off,” she said, and then followed in step as he turned away and continued along the arching, winding root bridging a gap, “Okay, so maybe I  _ don’t _ know much about magic, but if you’re going to talk in  _ riddles _ ye can’t expect me to ask straightforward questions.”

“Yeah, well,” he began, and paused before he kept walking, “Sorry for snapping, but you wouldn’t  _ believe _ the kind of things I get asked to etch runes or carve spells for, it’d turn yer fur… I guess it’s already gray, but you get what I’m saying.”  Stopping at an ivy-curtained wall, Gideon reached up to grab a pawful to hoist himself from the sturdy root and so out of the deeper, magical forest.

“Hey, I was wondering, since  _ I’ll _ be ordering one of those bows soon, I  _ should  _ know more about what goes in it, aye?” she proposed, “If it won’t make an arrow fly truer or catch fire mid-air, what  _ does _ it do?  All  _ I _ know is enchanted bows make for better archers, but that doesn’t sound the half of it.”

“Nothing flashy, jus’ keeps the wood and bowstring for longer, and makes it harder to pull back an arrow when you’re practicing, but  _ easier _ when hunting or fighting.”

“And how’s it know to do  _ that _ ?”

“ _ Tha’s _ a trade secret,” he grinned.

“You and yer  _ secrets _ , so closely guarded,” she smirked, “I hardly wonder if I should bother getting a bow  _ at all _ ; it might burst into flames as soon as I nock an arrow.”

Gideon stopped his ascent up the lattice and pivoted back to face her, “Okay, how ‘bout this, I’ll tell you  _ one _ secret about magic that was taught me: ev’ryone  _ has  _ magic, even if we don’t know how to  _ use  _ it, but the deepest magic, the  _ really _ powerful stuff, we already  _ know _ it, but jus’ need  _ reminding _ that we know it.”  And then proceeded to climb the short distance.

Judith stared up at him as he hoisted himself over the edge and onto higher ground.  “It can’t be a  _ ‘secret’ _ if ev’ryone  _ knows  _ it, now can it?” she called, and then followed before the tip of his tail whisked out of sight, nimbly vaulting up the ivy-covered wall and so into familiar territory.

The trees and roots no longer wound or twisted as both the forest floor and canopy were sure in their places, moving only at a breeze rather than of their own accord.  The foxes bid each other a friendly farewell, but long after Judith hastily vanished in return to the castle and the duties of a huntsmaid, Gideon found her lingering in his thoughts.  Never before had  _ anyone _ followed him so far into the woods, especially not all the way to this workshop nestled in the depths primeval; any reasonable mammal would have given him up for gone after the first time they lost him, but she kept at him  _ twice _ .  “ _ Twice! _ ” he marveled aloud to the very air, sun, and grass, and anything else that happened to be passing by.

Back at his workshop -- the one at the edge of the forest and known by those in the kingdom looking for a whittler of wood -- Gideon set his satchel and the finished bow on a table.  A paw rubbed his growling stomach with a grimace, for he’d only eaten  _ half  _ a second breakfast (even if it  _ was _ shared in good company), so both the trek through the woods and the conjuring left him hungrier than usual.  “Time for elevensies,” he chimed, and went to his pantry to put some oats in a bowl with a bit of sugar, and then poured in cream with raspberries, all of which he placed in a pot to sit over the merrily crackling log on a cast iron stand.  Next, he filled water and sprinkled tea leaves into a kettle, one ideally sized and shaped to also act as a lid for the pot.

Awaiting his porridge to cook, the woodcarver brought out a project he’d been at for a while, a chess set of the royal family: King Fergus and Queen Elinor, of course; the three princes, Hubert the scholar, as the king’s bishop, Harris the hunter, as the king’s knight, and Hammish the warrior, as the king’s rook; the princess, Merida, whose fiery passion of youth was tempered into a stately (but still  _ very _ fiery) figure of Highland royalty, could  _ only  _ stand adjacent to the queen, to whom she’d grown close to over the years, and thus be the queen’s bishop; which left the queen’s knight and rook… Merida didn’t have sisters, but she did have  _ huntsmaids _ .  Gideon’s thoughts came around Judith, the vixen with the silver fur and the purple eyes that somehow tracked him through the deep parts of the forest.  To make her the queen’s knight or rook might be a bit presumptuous, but that didn’t stop him from carving her likeness into a block of wood. So, shavings curled away with each slice of his keen whittling knife, and though the edges were only just removed, he could see her inside it and kept his blade swift and true to let her out.

A shrillness pierced the air as the kettle announced itself, and with it Gideon cried out from his focus, dropping his knife onto the table to grab hold of the cut right beneath the padded tip of his thumb.  Clenching the paw so his injured digit was held tight under his fingers freed him to grab and wad the nearest rag to stymie the wound. It was not his first cut, nor his second, tenth, or hundredth (most weren’t usually  _ so _ bad), but the pain was still sharper than the knife and the blood redder than his fur.  Using the table’s surface to apply pressure through the rag onto his thumb, Gideon bit off a long strip of the fabric as best he could to bind the small gash (practice makes perfect, after all), before cutting the excess with his teeth.

First, he inspected the makeshift bandage and found it held fast.  Second, he inspected the rag and found that it was his shirt. Holding it up he frowned at the new tear and blood stains, “My brother-in-law really has his work cut out for him…” he grunted, and slung it over an adjacent chair to answer the kettle’s whistle.  As it almost always did, the magical fire cooked his food and steeped his tea to perfection; Gideon lifted the kettle from its place as a lid and pulled out the bowl of creamy-sweet porridge with crisp, juicy raspberries. After he poured himself some tea, Gideon sat himself down in a moment of silent reverence, before picking up the bowl to knock back the mid-to-late morning meal, and wash it all down with a swig of tea.

Well through the morning, long since neighboring houses awoke to begin their own businesses, and well into the progress that Gideon made with Judith’s figurine, sanded and etched with such detail that even her sigil was recognizable, the shop’s bell solemnly clanged.  Gideon pivoted on his stool to study the empty workshop and adjoining storefront, nostrils flaring, ears flicking, eyes narrowing. “Hmmm…” he pondered, claw-tipped fingers drumming on the shaving-covered tabletop of his workbench, tail giving a suspicious swish.  White noise from distant outside activity and the merry crackle of his ever-burning log were all which moved the air until he heard a hurried scampering of tiny paws.  He grinned devilishly.

“ _ Uh oh _ ,” he loudly dramatized, drawing out each sound in a deep, resonating tone, “it sounds like I’ve got me a  _ bogle _ sneaking about my house,” and rose up from his seat in a lumbering motion to proceed stomping about, stooping to peer under tables and benches laden with his handiwork.  He could smell where his quarry  _ had been _ , but it wasn’t until he heard muffled giggles did he reach behind a bookshelf to pull out a fox kit flailing and shrieking in boyish glee.  “I gotcha!” Gideon declared, playfully biting and snarling around his nephew’s head -- which in turn bit back at his chin, nose, and lips -- before sitting the small fox on his arm against his chest with the other paw resting at his own hip, “And where’s yer Da at, ‘eh?  He didn’t have you pick up his bow by your lonesome, I hope, he  _ knows _ tha’s not how the magic works.”

The kit was bright red like his father but had his mother’s deep, blue eyes.  Garbed in a shirt made (and, as boys would be boys, repeatedly mended) by the tailor which sired him, as well as a fox’s tartan sized for someone his age, he quietly smiled and pointed towards the workbench which his uncle was so expertly diverted from.

“ _ Ach _ , Nicholas!” exclaimed Gideon, swatting at the air with the back of his paw in the general direction of a tall fox lounging on his stool, “Is it  _ so  _ hard to greet your own kin like a  _ normal _ mammal?”

“You’re under the impression that this  _ isn’t _ normal,” Nicholas stated with confidence and picked up a figurine which the master woodcarver so clearly invested his best skill into, “The question you  _ should  _ be asking is  _ why _ you keep falling for it, time after time.  By the way, who’s  _ this _ charming lass?”

After setting down his nephew with an ushering push with his tail, Gideon trod over to the table and its bundled commission, “She’s someone I met this morning, while I was working on  _ your _ bow, which by the way is done and perhaps some of my  _ best _ work.”

“‘Charming’, indeed!” the tailor beamed, leaping to his feet to study the figurine closer, “If she weren’t wearing the royal family’s sigil, I’d figure her a  _ faerie queen _ , to have found you casting spells,” and then smirked wider to his brother-in-law’s glowering grin, “And if she weren’t the  _ only _ vixen huntsmaid.  That Judith is quite the tracker to follow you so deep into the forest.  I know  _ I’ve  _ tried.”

“Chortle  _ all  _ you like, Nicholas,” Gideon boasted, “It was  _ fate _ which lead her to me, I’m sure of it, but tha’s  _ not  _ a topic with young ears about.   _ I _ think your son would rather hear about  _ this _ beauty,” he said, and still holding the bow through the cloth, he unraveled the rune-etched arch of unstrung wood, the subtle grooves of which shimmered in the reflective magical glow of the ever-burning log.  Indeed, the young kit was struck with wondrous awe, a sound which made the older foxes beam. “Well now, I hope you brought the bowstring? Doesn’t do much good without it, ya’know.”

“ _ O’course _ I brought it,” Nicholas chuffed, and pulled out a faintly glistening length of twine from a pouch at his belt, “or else all the time  _ we  _ spent on it this morning was for  _ naught _ .”

“Is that  _ so _ ?” the woodcarver said and grinned at the affirming nods of his nephew, “Well, if you  _ both _ made the bowstring, then you  _ both _ must string the bow;  _ tha’s  _ how the magic works.”

“A’ight, laddy, with Da now,” the tailor instructed, pooling the bowstring into his son’s eager paws before gripping the runed bow, kneeling to carefully, and then slowly bending it into an arch, “Do it jus’ like I taught ya’, tie it in a loop -- aye, jus’ like that -- and get it around this point here,” he further instructed, “And now tie the other end… no, a  _ little _ longer than  _ that _ , son…  _ there _ , good, good, and now we jus’ let the string go taut,  _ and _ …”  The runes glowed as father and son held the new bow, glinting off the kit’s wide eyes, “Nothing simpler.  A’ight, you keep an eye on that while Da haggles with Uncle Gideon.”

“‘ _ Haggle _ ’ he says,” came a smirking scoff, “as it so happens, I’ve  _ already _ something in mind you could do for me,” and standing upright from the table he leaned on, the woodcarver presented his torn, bloodied shirt, “Knowing  _ you _ , you can do something about all  _ this _ ,” he said hopefully, and willingly handed over the tattered garb.

Nicholas held the shoulders of the shirt and spared a glance to either side with a half-hearted flip, and without even bothering to waste another second on it he tossed the whole thing onto the ever-burning-log, whereupon it burst into a momentary flare and settled almost instantly.  At Gideon’s dismayed gasp and surprised clutches, the tailor spoke swiftly and jovially, “There, and I won’t even charge ye for the service.”

“ _ Ach _ , that was my  _ only _ shirt!” he groaned with a slump of his bare shoulders.

“Tha’s why you need a  _ new _ one, in fact, a new  _ two _ shirts,” he grinned and provided a gentle, backhanded tap of his brother-in-law’s prominent physique, “Which will actually  _ fit _ you.  They’ll be both payment  _ and _ necessity since I can’t very well have my  _ own kin _ walking around unclothed; it’s unsightly and  _ unprofessional _ .  Jus’ come by the shop tonight, we’ll have you measured up and  _ properly _ attired before too long,” and clapped at the huffing fox’s shoulder with a laugh.

“Well,  _ alright _ , if you insist,” Gideon relented in a smile, reaching about for a firm smack of the tailor’s mid-back.

“I rather  _ do _ , and don’t be late,” Nicholas said weakly but good-naturedly, and turned towards the door with a beckoning swat at the air, “C’mon, lad, still  _ lots  _ to do before your mother skins me alive for letting you shoot that bow,” and in quick answer to the surprised gasp, “We’ll need to pick up some arrows from the fletcher, first…” and away they went.

Sitting himself back at his workbench, Gideon couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of getting  _ two _ new shirts.  Nicholas always looked out for him and he wondered why he hadn’t asked for a better shirt before, but he was never the type to reach out for something like that, always preferred to get things done on his own, even if it seemed too much for him at the time.  With Judith’s figurine complete, Gideon set to work on the next one, but rather than carve out the Queen’s knight or rook to go with the royal family chess set, he decided to make one of Nicholas (even including the new bow he etched for him); after all, he was getting  _ two _ shirts for the price of one, and he knew the tailor wouldn’t accept a compensating payment.

As the afternoon continued and the sun traveled its arch to the western edge, the shop was closed up and Gideon required one more run to the forest’s depths for a final commission of the day: a small, snakeskin leather harness with some bad spellwork.  Sunrise was the best time for the inscribing of runes, while sunset was the  _ safest _ time to disenchant them, and since Gideon could get as far into the woods as he did, he was given the odd job of releasing the magic stored up inside.  Anything closer to other houses would have strange effects, after all.

Grabbing up his satchel, the harness, as well as some jerked pheasant, carrots, sweet bread, and a small jug of cooled tea, Gideon went for the door but paused when he spotted his newest figurines standing on his workbench.  A smile crept up as he grabbed them both, carefully stowing them in his bag to leave for the treeline and the fireflies swirling there…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a title like "Brave", there was no way I could finish this story without a bold-faced homage to the Pixar movie of the same name, "Brave". Here we have DunBroch and it royal family, along with a quote from the witch and her woodcarving profession.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rested and recovered, it's time to put your big-fox pants on and tackle the new day!

Ever since anyone in the Grey household could recall, their son or brother was never one to sleep in nor be stirred from established slumber; as he explained to anyone curious, “Once I’m down, I’m down but once I’m up, I’m up.”  Ma often attributed such behavior to Pa’s willingness to simply pick up a sleeping Giddy and move him as necessary, rather than disturb and instruct him appropriately (with increasing difficulty in accordance to either age of both father and son, so cold water was implemented to a satisfactory effect).  Young Essy would take advantage of her brother’s log-like sleep to play pranks common amongst fox siblings, if more and more elaborate at each endeavor. The availability of easy-to-use winding cameras (before camera-phones were readily available in Bunnyburrow, much less Preds’ Corner) provided Essy an outlet for her excess energy and creativity in the form of a challenge to assemble compromising situations, capture it on film, and then disassemble everything before either Giddy or her parents were any the wiser.

During his teenage years after pred-therapy, Gideon was haunted by vague nightmares of his experience, frequently waking up in the dead of night (what some might refer to as “the witching hour”) to his own screams muffled behind painfully clenching jaws, even going so far as to smother any noise into the pillow so that nothing would appear amiss to his parents and sister (Essy’s pranks, though playful, came to a quick and decisive end when everyone eventually found out what she was doing at night while the rest of the family slept, which was long before Gideon went to pred-therapy).  Before Ruth set her kit along the path of the pastry chef, and so provided him with a plethora of family recipes to distract him, Gideon would remain as quiet as possible in his room after each waking, trying to decide if he should be grateful that going back to sleep was not something that ever really happened for him (more often than not, reading comic books by moonlight when introspection grew tiresome). Into adulthood, those dark hours were better spent reviewing and mentally improving known recipes, and when he finally lived on his own, he found he could get so much more accomplished without fear of waking anyone else up or perhaps going for a pre-dawn walk in the woods behind the lot of his bakery.

That morning was not like those long witching hours, though.   _ That  _ morning was a morning Gideon had not known since he was a kit when the world was bright and full of new promise for adventure, and so he yawned such a yawn that it was like applause for it all.  It did, coincidentally, dawn on him that he fell asleep belly-down with his arms limp on either side; surprisingly, there was no pillow wrenched in his clutches and he was without a shirt (even if a sheet was laid over his back and tucked in around his neck).  Most surprising of all was that he awoke fresh and new without a single worry or fret. He swung his legs about and sat up in bed to await the onslaught of nocturnal fragments but all he felt was an easiness that, maybe, he could learn to like.

A quick swivel of his ears told him he was likely the first one awake, which he was used to.  A quick shuffle of his legs told him that he fell asleep in denim, which he was also used to and usually put him off but in his current state, it didn’t; it merely evoked a quiet laugh.  Ahh… laughter. A simple, solitary chuckle for no other reason than an idea tickled his funny bone. He didn’t laugh to hide his anxiety, or even more recently, because of a funny joke someone  _ else _ said.  He laughed simply to laugh, and it felt as good as breathing in fresh air.  So, he laughed again, and again and again and again, unsure whether it was so funny that he used jeans as pajamas but Gideon just couldn’t help himself, even bending over to grip his knees in hearty guffaws.  Goodness, he sure had a  _ lot _ of laughter to catch up on, and no better day than so sunny a day as it surely  _ must  _ be.

When the jollies were out of his system, ready to make all  _ new  _ ones for the  _ next  _ bout of merrymaking, Gideon grabbed some overalls from his closet (for his parents had a habit of keeping clothes for him when he visited -- same for Esther, of course -- and visits were expected on a semi-regular basis), and by his own habit reached for the two nearest shirts… yet did not grab them.  With another hearty chuckle, he let the shirts hang in his closet and turned away, shutting the door with a swish of his tail as he decided to wear  _ only _ a pair of overalls (at least until the pie-eating contest at the TBR, which wouldn’t be for some hours still).  “Won’t  _ they _ be surprised!” he said with renewed jolliness.

Sauntering down the hallway, Gideon went up on tiptoes to sneak past his sister’s room since she was always something of a light sleeper, even if she  _ did _ sleep in at every opportunity (there were times when she berated him for “turning the pages too loudly” if he read comic books in the same room she napped).  For all her neatness and uncut corners when it came to work and work-like environments, Essy’s private life bordered on the haphazard, sometimes “forgetting” to pick up after herself (occasionally earning a swift, correctional throat-clearing from Ma, and to Gideon’s own amusement, without the need to even  _ see _ whatever the young vixen neglected in her well-known tunnel vision), a precedence for scattered clothes on the bathroom floor adequately denied when Gideon witnessed its tidied state.

There sat the wooden tub, harkening to the yesteryears before porcelain, but its water-tightness was inarguable.  Perhaps it was because Goliath Grey, who was big for a fox, required more custom options for his comfort; perhaps it was also because he -- as his mate attested -- was tightfisted, opting to craft or reuse anything he’d need rather than spend money.  Around the wooden tub was a bewilderingly clean floor. Gideon invested little more than a cursory glance at the aligned shampoo and soaps on the tub-adjacent shelves, the discarded clothes in a wicker basket hamper, and the severe lack of anything even  _ resembling _ standing water.

“Odd…” Gideon remarked but then thumped the heel of his palm against his forehead in a grin, “ _ D’uh! _  Jude was in here and prob’ly cleaned everything up.  I was wondering what took ‘em so long…” and chuckled again.  Laying his overalls in an empty shelf (no doubt provided for such a thing as a change of clothes for the bather), Gideon caught a glimpse of the faint sheen from the bathroom mirror, thusly freezing in place.  He’d long since accepted the horrid scars riddling his flesh, seeing them every morning in his reflection even though they never  _ actually  _ showed through his fur.  His fingers twiddled and then kneaded his knuckles, twiddled and kneaded, twiddled and kneaded…  Would they still be there?

Nostrils flared and brow furrowed, shoulders squaring as he leaned forward and marched to the mirror, standing in front of the sink with his jaw set and glaring… at the back of his eyelids.  Peeking through a crack in his vision, Gideon gradually looked upon his own face, chest, and belly, inhaling to exhale to inhale again until his breath, indeed, normalized. Yes, “normal”, that’s how he looked.  For a long minute, he studied his features and it all looked… normal (although, perhaps a bit bulkier than a fox  _ should _ be, by the standard of most mammals, a nimble physique which Nick idealized; he had Pa’s genes to thank for that, as well as his own affinity for good food).  Of course,  _ that _ was the easy part, since he’d long ago realized that the scars on his face and arms were not  _ as _ visible as he thought they were; the  _ hard  _ part loomed over -- perhaps more accurately --  _ behind _ him.

His paw trembled as he reached for the hand mirror sitting on the sink, a common trinket for every household bathroom (as well as every respectable hotel) that allowed a mammal to check the state of the fur on their back, and it was down his back which Gideon felt a cold splash of dread as he exchanged a determined, yet scared, grimace with his reflection.  Swallowing the lump in his throat, the baker turned about so to fully face away from the mirror and breathe deep with closed eyes, holding his lungful of air, and then releasing it in a leaden sigh. It’d been too long since he ever looked at his own back --  _ really _ looked at it -- and doing so with the hand mirror was awkward as every red flag waved in his mind.

“There’s still a chance to go back,” said one flag.

“There’s no need to check,” said another.

Gideon knew, however, that all the help and love of his friends and family would be for naught if he only ever  _ pretended _ it was okay.  He had to know for certain if the scars were visible.  He had to know for  _ himself _ .  Peeking the mirror over his shoulder to reflect what the larger one saw, he unclenched his eyes to glimpse, once and for all, at what kept him anchored in trepidation.  First, he observed the fur of his lower back, right above the waistline of his jeans and the base of his tail. “Nothin’ there,” he confirmed and held his jaw tight to align and angle his perception until the entirety of his torso was in view, from the back of his skull to the breadth of his shoulders, down the rounded sides ending at his denim-clad haunches.  His tail swished. His ears flicked. He studied it all for some long minutes, wondering if he could believe what he saw… or  _ didn’t _ see.

“Essy was  _ right _ ,” Gideon hushed, a choking chuckle falling from his quivering, grinning mouth, “ _ Nick _ was right.  They were  _ both _ right!”  He craned his neck to look over his shoulder and down his back to get the best view he could, “They ain’t visible!  Not even a little!” and laughed in victorious revelation. All he saw was that, indeed, the fur on his back was in  _ desperate _ need of grooming, which considering he didn’t let anyone see it for over half his life, was certainly understandable.  Twirling about -- almost throwing the hand mirror in the process -- Gideon grinned wide and proud, fangs bared and dark lips pulled back for the happiest smile he’d given in  _ ages _ .

It would surely,  _ undeniably _ , be a great day.

* * *

After nearly an hour of painstaking self-grooming (following the shower), Gideon was satisfied with the state of his fur, even running his fingers through what he could reach to make sure that even when shortened, the scars were not visible under his pelt.  To his great relief and delight, they were not. Every snip of unkempt fur that fell away felt like peeling off a scab or bandage. There were the moments, though few and far between, that he succumbed to the memory of sixteen years in mortal terror of his darkest secret coming to light, but each time he did he heard Nick’s assurance from Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, that he had nothing to be scared of.

“You got my back, Stretch,” Gideon said to his reflection and brushed off the remaining snips of brick-red fur (and swept up his mess, of course).  Taking one last look in the mirror, he made to push his bangs behind his ears, as they often sat but decided to, instead, bring them forward and let them fall around his eyes, like how Pa and Essy wore theirs (even if  _ his  _ were notably, substantially shorter).  It elicited another simple chuckle before he pulled on his overalls.

With a quick stop in his room to grab his phone, Gideon trekked out into the kitchen, a broad expectant grin on his face diminishing to a patient smirk.  “Guess I’m still the only one up,” he observed. Spotting a general disarray of whatnots on the table, including emptied cans of soda or cups of tea, and some of Essy’s smaller legal effects, he scratched his nape with a thoughtful grunt to conclude what his sister’s briefcase cemented for him, “They must’ve been up all night, or somethin’,” and glanced down the hall at the quiet slumberers, “ _ well _ into the witchin’ hours.”  He clapped and rubbed paws with a grin, “I think you all deserve some crepes.”

He cleared the table and mixed the dough, readied a skillet and scavenged the fridge for garden-fresh ingredients.  “Lots of fruit for Nick… veggies for Judy… and I’m sure Essy wouldn’t mind some scrambled eggs in hers,” he beamed. Each one wrapped and sat on a warmer of the stove’s back burner, available for whenever they decided to wake up.  Gideon glanced over his shoulder with frequency, ears flicking at every little sound hinting their appearance, yet their persisting absence touched a nerve. “Must’ve stayed up ‘til  _ dawn _ ,” he grumbled but dropped the momentary resentment to, instead, put on the kettle.

As Ma before him, Gideon noisily set out the plates around the table before digging into his own peach, turkey bacon, and hazelnut spread crepe with the full intention to let the smell of good, warm food attract the others to their prepared meal; but as each remained untouched while his own left only crumbs, he couldn’t help but wonder what could be keeping them.  Dejected (if only for a moment, since there was still plenty of day left), Gideon did as his Ma taught him and wrapped up the room temperature breakfasts for cold storage.

Harrumphing, Gideon glared down the hall.  “Okay, no more Mr. Nice Fox,” he determined and marched past the empty couch to the bedrooms, “I like to think myself a patient mammal, but if you can’t even pull yourself out of bed, late morning as it is…”  Yanking open his sister’s door, he harshly announced himself, “A’ight, lazy bones, get yerself-” and though expecting a flailing and irate vixen, was met with not only quiet but stillness; as in, her bed was still made.  Which meant she didn’t sleep in it. A dark weight swung from Gideon’s heart but he dismissed it. “You prob’ly expect to jump out and give me a scare,” he accused, scowling at the room before closing the door.

Next, he trod down to his parents’ room, figuring that if neither Judy nor Nick slept on the couch or Pa’s sizeable armchair, then one of them partook the master bed, however, it was plain to see that its sheets and pillows were also undisturbed.  “Guys?” he called out into the hall after closing the door as that dark weight vied for prominence in his sunny disposition. Gideon returned to the kitchen table to sit with both cheeks in his palms and considered some possible scenarios.

“My van’s still here…” he noticed, “Did they walk into town for breakfast?  But there’s no way Judy would let those soda cans sit on the table all night, and Nick wouldn’t go that far for food knowing  _ I’m _ still here.  Essy-” He jumped when the house phone derailed his train of thought, chair scraping on the floor as he made to stand but halted when he noticed the stillness of his  _ own _ phone. “They all have my number… why would they call the house?” he wondered aloud, and then decided to let the answering machine take it, “Must be one of Pa’s clients… except they should all know he and Ma are out on that cruise, shouldn’t they…?”  When the ringing ended, the voices of Goliath and Ruth instructed to leave a message, he in a fairly straightforward manner and she in a more cordial tone; so, the tape set to record.

“Hey Gunky,” said a voice Gideon never heard before, “pick up.”

Gideon addressed the machine with a prompt raspberry.

“Real mature,” the voice continued, to which the fox flinched, “And you handle  _ food _ , you could at least groom yourself, for crying out loud.”  He spun about, looking up at the ceiling as though to find a camera nestled in one of its corners that he somehow missed, but none was there.  “Yeah,  _ you _ , you backwater hick.  Now let’s try this again, but  _ this time _ you pick up.”   _ Click. _  Blue eyes stared and chest heaved, dry throat gulping to process the new information in the resulting quiet, while also recalling a  _ delightful _ recipe for a prickly-pear turnover.  The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The phone rang.

The phone ra-

“H-hello?” Gideon answered, catching his breath after a mad dash.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it,” the voice said.

“Wh-who is this?”

“It doesn’t matter…” but he paused, “Ya’know what, call me ‘Graves’.”

“…G-… ‘Graves’?”

“As in, where your friends will end up if you’re not ‘silent as the’,” and in the absence of any response, “Nod if you got all that.”

Gideon snapped shut his gawking mouth and nodded immediately, leaning towards the adjacent window to sweep the empty lawn but found only the gentle downward slope towards the fence, and the expanse that led to the neighboring farms, and then Preds’ Corner, and then Bunnyburrow proper off in the distance, and finally the gem of Zootopia itself, tucked away beneath the slight rise of the horizon.

“Alright-”

“How do-do-do I even know that you  _ have _ my-my friends?” Gideon suddenly said, a swell of courage alighting in his chest.  He’s seen stuff in the movies and on television, after all, and knew that,  _ If they’re bluffing, then they have nothing on me _ .

“…You want some kind of proof, then?” Graves said, “Sure, I can swing that.  But first, I need to ask you something. Do you know how easy it is to pop off someone’s toe with a pair of pruning shears?” and when the fox quietly yelped his answer, “Any hardware store, get one of those long-handled ones, gives you all the  _ leverage _ and  _ pressure _ you need to get the job done.  So you know what, I’ll send you one of your sister’s toes-”

“No!”

“They’re, umm… what is this, sparkly and purple?  Yeah, I’ll send you one of her purple toes-”

“No,  _ please _ , don’t!”

“-with the phone right up to her mouth, so you can hear her when I-”

“ _ No _ !” Gideon pleaded, falling to his knees and gripping the table where the phone’s cradle sat, “Don’t hurt her!  Please…!”

“I don’t know, Gunky, I’ve got my doubts that you really appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

The fox choked, still squatting as he gripped the receiver with white knuckles.  “What do you-you-you  _ want  _ from me?”

“Well… okay, how about this.  Take out the tape from the answering machine,” Graves instructed.

Standing, shaking, Gideon sniffed and did as he was told, examining the cassette in his palm.  “Okay… now what?”

“Hold it up… no, not like you’re giving it to someone, you dumb fox, like you’re showing it.”

His brow furrowed to maneuver the card-sized piece of plastic between his index and thumb, turning it over once and glancing through the window again with expectation and then back to the cassette.  The glass pane was punched through with a single bullet hole as the plastic pinched in his grip exploded. Gideon dropped the receiver in a yell, falling back and gasping repeatedly (mind reeling with no less than three simultaneous recipes).

“You still there, Gunky?” Graves asked.

The fox kept low, only daring to glimpse over the top of the table at the punctured and cracked window, pupils narrowing and body trembling when he saw the fine hole.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you passed out.”

“I-I’m here, I’m still here!” he confirmed, grabbing up the phone and cradling it to his head.

“Do you understand, now?”

“Y-yes!”

“Good, good.  You know, I’m glad.  Do you want to know why I’m glad?  Ask me why I’m glad,” and after a full beat, “Go on, ask me.”

“Wh-… why are you glad?”

“Blood is such a pain to clean up and a severed toe sprays a lot of it, you know?  But you’re a ‘sly fox’, Gunky, so you’re taking the easy way out and I’m glad for that.  And I’m sure your sister’s glad for that, too, considering how much she probably paid to get these toes painted.”

Gideon clenched his jaw and held the receiver against his shoulder with a few steadying breaths.   _ He’s right about one thing, _ he thought, recalling not only what Nick told him at the hospital regarding his potential for cleverness but also what  _ he _ told Nick only a few hours prior, which let him better “appreciate the gravity of the situation”,  _ I’m a sly fox, alright. _  “Graves, you’re, umm, you’re from the darknet, ain’t ya’?”

There was a long, pregnant pause, and though Gideon’s ears were no rabbit’s they were still keen in their own right, and he almost heard a hushed conversation on the other end.  “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Shifting about into a comfortable squatting position, he licked his dry lips and continued,  _ And there’s only one reason why the darknet wants anything to do with me _ , “This is… this is about the whipped cream, ain’t it?  The stuff that’s  _ locked up _ in the sheriff’s office, right?”  He felt a triumphant grin cross his face.

“…Check your fridge, bottom left drawer, in the back.”

Gideon’s blood turned to ice.

“Go on.  Check.”

Gideon turned his head towards the kitchen.

“Sometime today.”

The fox shakily stood and with the wireless receiver approached the ominous cooling unit, its steady hum louder than ever before.  The door cracked open, and though Gideon was just in there scrounging about, he hadn’t checked the bottom left drawer… not  _ thoroughly _ , anyway.  So, he knelt and slid it fully open to find the familiar plasticware that he, Nick, and Judy worked so hard to get rid of, tucked in behind some asparagus and beets.  He peeled off its lid and sniffed the contents, and impossibly so, the whipped cream laced with Night Howler was inside, ready for its inclusion in the pie-eating contest later that day.

“No, it-it-it  _ can’t _ be.  How-?”

“Abracadabra.  You know what that’s for, Gunky, make sure it gets there.”

“But there’s not enough!” Gideon pleaded in a last-ditch effort.

“Don’t make this any harder for yourself than it already is, fox, because it could mean a lot of blood gushing out of your sister’s foot and that would just put a damper on my day, so do us all a favor and figure something out.  Should be easy for a ‘sly fox’ like you.”  _ Click. _  The dial tone answered all of Gideon’s panicked cries, before numbly ending the call to slump against the fridge door.  He was, irrefutably, alone in the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm... nothing to say here.
> 
> Thank you for reading and reviewing, traveler.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all hope is lost... only some of it.

When his body stopped shaking, Gideon stood so to set the plasticware on the counter and then shambled around to set the phone in its cradle.  His claws reached out and dragged along the cracks in the window, lightly prodding the bullet hole from which they originated. He couldn’t think of any recipes amidst the mental haze, so he returned to the kitchen and studied the container wherein sat fluffy, white doom, and with it a monumental decision to make.  If he put it on his pies, lots of bunnies could die, and with them he could  _ also  _ die from the “death shriek”, assuming he stretched out what little he had left of the drugged stuff to make it seem convincing.  If he  _ didn’t _ , he could lose Essy, Nick, and Judy...

“What do I  _ do _ …?” he asked, though to no one in particular.  His paws balled into fists as he spoke louder, “What  _ can _ I do?”  And then shouted with tears falling down his cheeks, “I can’t do  _ anything _ without someone getting  _ hurt _ !”  Fear and desperation transgressed into anger, coursing through him like magma as he stormed off to the kitchen door leading outside, swinging it open with a clatter.  He stared off at the woods beyond the lawn and then glared down at a stone with a single crack artfully placed at the top, an old Chronicler symbol that sat right outside.  He stooped to grab it, ripping it from the dirt in a fiery huff and marched over to the fence.

“I sang those songs, I told those tales,” he growled, “Even with all the bad stuff I went through, I  _ never _ lost faith, did I?”  He choked, picking up steam and hoisting the stone over his shoulder, “Where are You now!  Where have You been!” he called out, charging through the tall, unkempt grass of the soccer field his father built in approach of the lawn’s edge.  Confusion and doubt wrung his heart fiercer with each step, the dark emotions he contained behind a façade of repression for so long boiled beneath his pelt, no longer dreading reprisal for lashing out.  After all, what more could be taken from him…

In a clumsy stumble, Gideon yelled and flailed as his foot struck a forgotten ball, sending it high through the air.  The fox lost his footing at what he thought was (maybe) a large, black-and-white bird rocketing out of the grass, legs falling out from under him to land  _ hard  _ on his tail, the stone dropping behind him with a dull thud.  He tried to blink away the stars obscuring his vision as his head spun.

The rubber sphere bounced off the fence and flew into the shady canopy of the mid-morning boughs, garnering Gideon’s final glimpse of its departure.  “Oh!” he gasped, scrambling to his feet to chase after the soccer ball, “I’m such a klutz,” he berated himself, hoisting himself over the wooden barrier in chase.  “Stupid, stupid,” he continued in hushed mumbles, scanning the dim for where the black-and-white toy might’ve landed. It wasn’t too long before he found it, deep into the woods as it strayed, and loosed a heavy huff to pick it up.  It was then that he remembered his anger and spun the ball about in his palms, glancing awkwardly. His rage then seemed foolish -- downright “stupid” -- wondering what he could’ve accomplished or proven by chucking that cracked stone into the woods.

The air on his fur, the smells in his nose, the sounds in his ears, the lights in his eyes; the woods always soothed when nothing else could, when no one else understood, so they always lingered in his memories and dreams.  Not that he really dreamt much, not as much as he used to as a kit, but each time it always ended in a forest, back to that time he wandered off from his sister when he was maybe three-years-old, when he thought he saw that big, old lion right on the edge of their field; aside from seeing his Pa’s eyes, it was one of his first, clearest memories.  He was an old, weary, graying mammal, that lion, both in memory and dream, hunched over with ragged fur and a stringy mane, wearing a dark, smoky cloak that seemed way heavier than it should be. He was always in a glade with a huge, nasty pricker bush on one side, and a clear path on the other, and there were always fireflies, bright golden fireflies whisking about.  Toddling around his feet would be a baby-kit with blue eyes -- which Gideon always assumed was himself -- whom the old lion watched dutifully, lovingly… sadly.

Gideon asked Ma what it all meant and she said it was Aslan Himself, visiting him in a dream (except every depiction  _ he’d _ ever seen was of a large, strong, golden lion in the prime of life… not some decrepit ghost of a cat).  Pa would say, “What you get out of a dream depends on what you put into it” or something to that effect, but Gideon never really “got” anything out of it (except that heaviness of a super-important decision which the fate of  _ everything ever _ teetered on, and typically made him uncomfortable to think about).  Essy did some research on dream interpretation and said that he felt guilty for how he acted as a bully, but was afraid to make amends because he’d have to face up to what he did (except he had the dream  _ before _ he ever really started bullying, so… while he  _ did _ feel guilty about all those other kids he terrorized back in his youth, he didn’t think that’s what the dream meant).  Regardless, every dream wound up the same with him meeting an old lion to face that weight of decision but ending before he even figured out  _ how _ to decide.

Except for last night.

After perhaps his most favorite dream in years, Gideon found himself in the forest with the pricker bushes and fireflies, like always, and the lion watching the baby-kit, like always; but  _ not _ like always, Gideon stooped down to pick up the kit, and just… held him.  And then, he looked at the lion, right up into that patient, world-weary face that, for the first time, had sharp, regal eyes.  In his dream, Gideon looked away to wonder if he should go down the clear path; after all, it seemed like the obvious choice, but even though the lion was old and weak, overpowering a fox with a kit would be  _ too _ easy… and if the purpose was to steal the kit into the pricker bush, there was no reason to wait for Gideon to find them.  So, he wondered what the lion had to say without ever actually asking, something he just  _ felt _ , wondering why he  _ shouldn’t _ go down the clearly easier path; and then that old mammal reached out and almost touched the fox, grabbing at the air right in front of his eyes as if to pull something like a spider web off his face.

Through the pricker bushes, though filled with long, horrible thorns, Gideon could see daylight beyond them.  Down the clear path, however, he could see the dim shine pouring through the canopy darkening with menace. He looked at the kit he held (again, probably himself, or as Essy explained, “a representation of your innocence”), and then back to the lion, who looked ready to lay the thing he pulled off Gideon across an arm.  So, instead, Gideon held the kit up to the lion in last night’s dream and earned a kindly, grandfatherly smile, like it was the first time anyone ever so much as spared a  _ second _ to offer up a greeting.  The lion accepted the kit, dropping the “spider web” (for lack of a better term) to let it whisk down the clear path, and then stood upright, taller than a lion or even a giraffe had  _ any _ right to be, cradling the kit protectively before ducking into the pricker bush and out of sight.

Also completely new was a vixen in a festive, prismatic dress, looking  _ very _ similar to Essy except… while he wouldn’t say  _ older _ , she certainly looked taller, as if she  _ were _ older than him.  She smiled sweetly, proudly, and then the dream ended.  (Gideon decided he would leave that last part out of  _ anything _ he’d tell to  _ anyone _ ; he knew what some had to say about female relations popping up in dreams, and he did  _ not _ think of Essy that way.)  Now, he was only a simple pastry chef from Bunnyburrow, not some fancy head-doctor or learned theologian, but the best that Gideon could figure was he finally found his way out of that pricker bush (with a little help), and maybe he shouldn’t so easily toss blame about where it wasn’t needed.

On his way back, Gideon hummed a kithood hymn, remembering it better than the stories Ma told (or, at least  _ tried _ to tell; she was always better at singing than storytelling).  It was no secret that a lot of foxes stayed away from Chronicler stuff, saying how it “glorified lions” and other “nobler” species.  It didn’t help that one of the central figures in that ancient story, a fox,  _ betrayed _ the very lion who taught the other mammals about love no matter their differences, laying down tenets that some philosophers said began the evolution of once primal animals into a unified, modern society (others disagreed, but  _ that _ was a debate for another time).  Ma said that the fox was the most important and best part of the story as she learned it from Grampub, because the lion forgave the fox and so made him his greatest advocate, and it was the  _ fox _ that took those lessons to heart, “singing the songs” and “telling the tales” to whoever would listen (regrettably, some mammal communities left that part out in their own tellings).  It gave him hope that  _ he _ could be forgiven for everything  _ he’d _ done.

Gideon left the woods and tossed the ball to the ground, kicking it back under the fence before hoisting himself over it to return where he dropped the cracked stone, which he retrieved in a moment of solemnity.  If he remembered his lessons, it represented one of the Chroniclers’ foundational principles: “Love will always give you the strength to do the right thing, even when it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do”.  Carefully holding the stone to his chest, Gideon kept the ball along up the gentle slope, softly singing a single-line from a hymn that helped him every day for the past sixteen years: “Give the strength for just one more step.”

With a final kick, the soccer ball clattered against a piece of loose wood leaning on the side of the house.  “Huh?” Gideon wondered and put the cracked stone back into its place as he inspected the lid next to the rain barrel; he recalled the  _ many _ times Pa got on the case of whoever left it off after grabbing a drink or a quick wash, because that was  _ supposed _ to be clean (enough) water, and the lid kept bugs or dirt out.  Odder still was the light coming from inside the rain barrel. As Gideon peered in he spotted a cell phone sitting at the bottom.  “Huh?” he twice wondered but then remembered that he knew of one and  _ only _ one mammal with a waterproof phone.  “Nick! You sly, crazy fox, you must’ve hid it for me to find!” and dumped out enough water to reach in and grab it.

“Sprinkles” read the caller ID, and with a frantic swipe of his thumb, Gideon put the still wet screen up to his ear and ducked, scanning the fenceline for anyone that might be watching as he ever-so-discreetly granted himself entry back into the house.  Before he could answer, a bubbly, jovial voice nearly shrieked with palpable excitement, “Sly! Holy cow, I’ve been trying to get hold of you  _ all morning _ , okay, so last Friday you searched for that ram with the chip in his horn, well, I found out he’s got  _ quite  _ a rap sheet…  Wait, are you hyperventilating, are you okay?”

“Uhh… hi, no, I’m fine, and umm… I’m Gideon Grey, Nick’s cousin,” he said quietly, closing the door behind him as stealthily as possible before hunkering behind the counter.

A shrill, delighted gasp burst from the phone, “Shut the front door, that is the  _ craziest _ !”  The vibrancy screeched to a halt at what sounded like an apologetic whisper, “Does, uh, does that mean  _ you’re  _ a fox, too?”

“Y-yeah, it does; I  _ am _ a fox.”

“Oh no, I’m  _ so _ sorry I called you ‘sly’ and ‘crazy’!” he pleaded, awkward groaning abundant from the other side of the call, “What is  _ wrong _ with me, I should  _ know  _ better!” he fretted in an especially sad kind of way.

“Hey, it’s okay, really!” Gideon hastily comforted, somewhat unsure  _ how  _ to handle someone feeling bad for stereotyping him, “Listen, umm… it’s great to meet you but Nick’s only got your name as ‘Sprinkles’, so is that what I should call you…?”

A giggling snort was the next response, “Hah!  Yeah, that’s his  _ Nick _ name for me, ever since high school, I think it’s because of my spots, being a cheetah and all, but he’s always been really cool with me calling him ‘Sly’, so I guess I just kinda called him that, not knowing  _ you  _ weren’t  _ him _ … is he nearby?  This is kinda important police business, I  _ really  _ shouldn’t be, ya’know, talking with a civilian about it, so just, uh, forget anything I might’ve said concerning…  _ that _ , please-and-thank-you~” he punctuated in a singsong tone.

_A cop!_ Gideon realized with such an overwhelming wave of relief, he felt he could kiss the screen.  He gazed to the ceiling and the sky beyond in smiling gratitude, mouthing a prayerful “Thank you” while clutching the phone to his chest.   _Okay, I have one shot at this, so I need to get the message that Nick and Judy’re in trouble._ “He’s… uhh… _out_ , must’ve forgot his phone, and it was ringing, so I thought I’d… _pass along a message_ , if ya’ get me.  By the way, I didn’t catch your name, Officer…?”

“Oh, of course, double sorry.  Officer Benjamin Clawhauser, I’m the dispatcher and friendly face of the ZPD, Precinct 1!  You said your name was Gideon Gr-?” he asked, but then somehow interrupting himself, “Wait, do you know an  _ Esther  _ Grey?  Is she your sister?  She’s a defense attorney that comes around every once in a while, and is, like,  _ almost _ as big a Gazelle fan as me, but let’s be honest here, right?” he laughed, “Wow, this is just too craz-… I mean…  _ cray-cray _ .  Am I allowed to say ‘cray-cray’?”

“I… I don’t know what ‘cray-cray’  _ is _ .”

“It’s short for ‘crazy’,” he explained, and it sounded like he also included air-quotes, “so I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to say it.”

“Oh… I guess that’s fine, I mean,  _ I _ don’t have a problem with it-”

“You know, I think I heard her and Judy mention something about a brother… what was it… Oh!  Oh oh oh oh oh! Esther said you were a  _ baker _ , and she promised to bring something over the next time she came around!” and let out what sounded like a mewling squeal of barely contained rapture, “There’s  _ nothing _ better than homemade sweets!  Not to  _ brag _ , but I’m something of a pastry connoisseur; I even have my own blog about it.  Oooh~ I can’t  _ wait _ to try some of your goods!”

Gideon felt himself at a loss of how to convey any kind of message about his predicament.  He was glad that he got hold of someone in the ZPD so amiable and who sounded like not only a close friend of Nick’s, but of Essy and Judy, too, but by the same token, he was just a bundle of lightning so getting a word in edgewise was something of a challenge.  Pulling the phone from his ear, the screen lit up and the button for  MuzzleTime reflected off the fox’s eyes; it wasn’t his favored way of communicating if only because the name made his pelt crawl (he didn’t have an issue answering it, only initiating it), but maybe if Benny could see the worry on his face… facial cues were something foxes used to communicate as much as words, after all.  He slicked back his bangs and with a tap of his thumb, Gideon opted to include video, “Whoops! Sorry, Benny, clumsy fingers…” he claimed.

“Say wha-?” asked the cheetah, and to the fox’s relief, the request was accepted as the screen soon filled with the pillowy rolls of Benjamin Clawhauser’s black-spotted, golden cheeks and neck, embracing the capriciously surprised face gazing back.  “Oh no, I didn’t mean to-! Chief Bogo gets mad when I take video calls at the front desk,” he worried, holding the mobile device low as he craned his neck and scanned, “Okay, coast is clear! Did you just hop out of the shower? And O. M.  _ Goodness _ .  You have, just, the  _ bluest _ eyes, don’t you?  I can definitely see how you’re Esther’s brother, you’ve even got her bangs!  Is that, like, a farm-fox thing, because I haven’t seen that on  _ any _ other foxes?”

“Maybe?” Gideon sincerely wondered.  As far as he knew, only he, Pa, and Essy had bangs when it came to foxes, at least in Preds’ Corner.  His brow furrowed and warm ears pinned back, as he glanced around again while inching towards the landline telephone and its adjacent window, his level of anxiety no less since the call began.

“What’s wrong, you look spooked?” the hesitant cheetah asked, whose manner of speech finally managed to slow down.

Peeking around the counter, the fox crept low to the floor until he got to the table, and then held his cell phone at such an angle as to give the cheetah cop as clear a view of the bullet hole as possible.  “I’m at my parents’ house, in Preds’ Corner,” he whispered, “Err… ‘The Brambles’, I mean, just outside of Bunnyburrow proper. Nick, Judy, and Essy were staying here last night, but they up and vanished, spirited away by someone named ‘Graves’, and they’re in all kinds of danger.  You gotta send help!” and then clutched the phone to his heaving chest, for once again, the phone rang, and Gideon dared not let it go unanswered. He tried to steady his breath, brought back to reality by a thorough worrying from Officer Benjamin Clawhauser.

“Gideon, are you there?” the cheetah tried again.

Snapping from his daze, the fox looked into the screen of their video call, “Quick, mute your phone!”

“Wait-!”

“If I don’t answer it, Graves’ll hurt my sister!  Mute your phone and listen in, or trace it! I’ll answer the call and you trace it, okay?”

“But I can’t…”

“ _ Please _ , Benny, you’re the only one who can help, and I can’t do this on my own…”

The cheetah frowned, gulped, glanced about, and then nodded, “Okay, muting my-” he said, and though his lips moved, no words came.

Taking great care where he stood up, Gideon rose at the side of the table which he  _ knew _ was not visible from the window and set down the phone when it was apparent to him that no noise would come from it.  Recognizing that the persisting dampness of his mitts wouldn’t mix with the known lack of waterproofing of common house phones, he tried to pat them dry enough on his overalls that he could touch a button to answer the call.

“Took you long enough,” Graves said and paused a half-beat, “…Am I on speakerphone?”

“Oh, yeah, my paws are wet,” responded Gideon and held them up in view of the window, trying with every fiber of his being to remain calm, “I just… washed up a bit, as you said to.”

“So you  _ do _ listen.  If you’re not busy, I have another question for you.”  And was quiet.

Gideon rocked from heel-to-toe as he waited.

“I guess you’re not curious about the question.”

The fox flinched and cleared his throat, “I-I’m free; sorry.  What can I help you with?”

“ _ There  _ we go.  So, I was wondering, do you usually take your pet rock to kick a ball around when you’re on something of a tight schedule?”

Gideon rubbed his arm, “Th-that was…”

“I figured I made myself clear about how urgent all this is, but maybe I didn’t.”

“But I… I  _ do _ understand, Mr. Graves…”

“Don’t call me ‘Mister’.”

“S-sorry!  I mean…  _ just  _ Graves,” Gideon said, paws gripping each other such that his claws gently dug into his pelt between the knuckles.

“More to the point, Gunky, you do  _ not _ understand, and I need to rectify that.”

The fox whimpered in dismay as he hastily drew a target on the notebook kept near the phone and held it up, “Here, you can shoot this, like you did last time!”

“Gunky,” he rebuked with bored, waning patience, “I don’t waste breath or bullets on repeating myself.  Instead, I have someone here I know you’ll listen to, and they’ll repeat it as many times as it takes.”

“No!” he screamed, paws slamming on the table around the phone as he leaned into it, “I’ll get to it, I will, enough whipped cream for everyone, just don’t hurt Essy!”

“…You know what, I think you finally understand…”

Gideon bowed his head, claws dragging across the tabletop with a choking cough, “Th-thank you…”

“...But I can’t just let you waste time like that.”

“Huh?”  Across the phone came an efforted grunt, the collision of something heavy with something soft to evoke a startled, pained scream that Gideon was quite sure he could identify, “Nick!”

“Your sister only has six toes but I can hit Nick all day, and it’s a lot less blood to clean up.”

Again came the collision, “Ow!” the other fox barked, groaned and then added, “That was sarcastic, by the way, in case you didn’t pick up on-” interrupted by another quick collision.

“Nick!” Gideon called again.

“Bangs?” came the surprised, staggering reply.

“I’m so sorry, Nick, I didn’t mean to-!”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Graves said, “You waste any more of the next few hours and Nick gets hit harder and his fur gets redder.  Nod if you got all that.”

A vigorous, whimpering nod was Gideon’s sole reply.

_ Click. _

He collapsed to his knees, fingers digging into his scalp as he shook.  Confusion wracked the fox’s brain amidst stacking concern, for not only was Nick in pain on  _ his _ account, but a part of him was relieved that it wasn’t Essy’s screams he heard.  Gideon knew in his head that Nick would understand how he’d rather his cousin be bruised than his sister mutilated, but in his heart  _ either _ situation was horrific and he only had himself to blame for “wasting time”.   _ Just one more step…  _ he prayed,  _ but every step makes things worse… _

“Gideon,” said a deep, authoritative voice from overhead.

The fox’s ears pricked while looking about, a tremor traveled the length of his spine and tail as he spoke so softly he could hardly hear himself, “…Aslan…?”

“Mr. Grey, are you still there?” it asked, drawing attention to the nearby tabletop.

Ever-so-carefully, the fox reached up for his cousin’s phone.  “Who…?” Gideon wondered, unsure if it was a voice he recognized because it definitely wasn’t Benny, and then he saw a stern, cobalt face in the phone’s screen, and while he almost recalled the sturdy horns and dark nostrils, considering the fox’s mental state it was simply easier to ask, “Who’re you?”

“I’m Chief Bogo of the ZPD,” he explained, slowly but succinctly, “Officer Clawhauser debriefed me on the situation and the next few hours are  _ crucial _ to saving Wilde, Hopps, and Ms. Grey.  Can we count on your cooperation?”

“I…” came a choke, and squatting until he was only a ball of fur and denim with its tail tucked in, “I don’t know if I  _ can _ …  I  _ thought _ I could, but no matter  _ what _ I do, someone gets hurt…”  The phone shook as he gripped it with all his weakness, for to him it was less an admission of inability than a confession of guilt.

“Mr. Grey,” he said patiently, “ _ Gideon _ , are you familiar with the ZPD’s oath?” and as the fox watched the view drift down the Cape buffalo’s chest, he soon saw the polished badge pinned on his uniform, “Trust.  Bravery. Integrity. Both Judy and Nick have a badge  _ just _ like this, which means they not only practice these principles every day they put it on, but they  _ rely _ on them from others.”

“But…” Gideon sniffed, staring at the badge for a moment longer before Bogo’s face filled the screen again, “I don’t know how brave I  _ can  _ be… and I can’t even trust  _ myself _ …”

“Start with integrity, and the others will follow.”

“‘Integrity’?  Why?”

“Because it means doing the right thing whether or not someone else is watching, especially when it goes against your best interests,” Bogo explained, “Clawhauser tells me that you’re close friends with Judy, then you know that could not be the case unless you emulated those same values she upholds.”

_ Y-yeah, tha’s right… _ Gideon thought, and whether it was how his face broadcast every thought running through his head, it seemed that the chief of police read him like an open book, for he nodded with a confirming grunt.

“At this moment, ‘Graves’ needs to believe  _ he _ still holds the advantage until Sheriff Longmare can locate and apprehend him.  It sounds like he wants you to do something in the next few hours, which means we have that long,  _ at least _ , before he does anything drastic.  What is it that you’re supposed to do?”

Talking with someone of strength and authority calmed the fox’s nerves enough to unfurl his tail and plop onto his seat.  “There’s some whipped cream filled with drugs that he wants me to put on the pies for a pie-eating contest today,” he numbly said and steadied his breathing as the buffalo’s head canted and brow knitted in unamused bewilderment.  Gideon continued at a gradually increasing tempo, “Rachel wrote up the report, so she can explain ev’rything when you call her, because we -- Jude, Nick, and me -- turned in that whipped cream as evidence, but somehow Graves got hold of it again.”  And then he seemed to calm as the harrowing event from the late Sunday afternoon came back to him, a realization crossing over his eyes at what his cousin explained afterward, how he and his partner turned the tables in a hopeless situation and it was all thanks to Gideon’s unknowing cooperation, “Wait, so I jus’ need to keep Graves thinkin’ he’s in charge long enough for you and Rachel to catch him?”  He then added to himself,  _ Or long enough for Judy and Nick to do their thing! _

Chief Bogo grunted in doubt, leaning in to study the phone’s screen, “Yes, it’s important that Graves suspects nothing while Sheriff Longmare tracks him down, but I advise against doing anything crazy, Mr. Grey;  _ strongly _ advise against it.”

Gideon reeled, very much taken aback as his eyes darted about in a chuckle.  “What? Why would I do anything like that?” he denied, although now that he wasn’t wallowing in self-pity anymore…

“Because you’ve got that  _ look _ in your eyes, same as Wilde,” the buffalo passively accused.

“Give him the ‘I don’t care that you’re a fox’ speech!” Benny called, unseen.

“I’m not giving him the ‘fox speech’!” Bogo called back.

The fox’s tail swished.  Nick’s cries of pain were fresh in his mind but by the same token, he managed to slip in some snark before Graves cut him off,  _ So he can’t be that bad off… _ Gideon considered, and hearing about Bogo and this “fox speech”, well… got him thinkin’… “Hey, Chief Bogo?” he asked, and earned a glare from the buffalo as his attention returned to the phone (the hot huff from his nostrils was almost tangible through the screen), “D’you…  _ know _ who this Graves is?”

Bogo grunted disapprovingly, eyes narrowing.

“Couldn’t hurt if I knew too, could it?” the fox suggested, admittedly, feeling quite daring on the other side of a long-distance call.

He began after a pause, and with all due severity, “He’s the city’s deadliest sniper, and with the geography of The Brambles, the only one who could make that shot into your window.  Known only as the ‘ _ Grave _ digger’, our best detectives pieced together his M.O. after several ‘suspicious accidents’, wherein the bullet did  _ not _ kill the victim, rather put them into a situation which their surroundings  _ could _ ; he digs the grave, and his target falls right in.  His victimology suggests that he is a hired gun and assassin; seemingly random individuals whose only connection is a target on their backs.

“‘Graves’ is meticulous, patient, and ruthless, and so far that phone call -- unclear though it is -- serves as the  _ only _ evidence we have on him to date, aside from a blurry photo of him tipping his hat to the camera.  All we know is that he is a canine species, whether wolf, coyote, or some other, we cannot say for certain.  We thought he was involved in the pred-scare since it fit his technique  _ perfectly _ , except  _ that _ sniper was a ram, a copycat killer that hasn’t since shown his face,” he explained, punctuated with the hint of a frustrated, threatening low.

Gideon frowned such a frown that his dark lips might very well have dangled beneath his chin.

“Can we count on you, Mr. Grey?” Bogo asked again.

“Y-yes!” the fox aptly replied, “I’ll… I’ll do my best.”

“I know it’s a lot to ask of a private citizen.”

Gideon grunted and shrugged, his tail swishing nervously, “I jus’ want my family back.”

“We’ll get them back,” the buffalo assured.

Managing to smile, he responded, “Ya’know, you ain’t  _ half _ so mean as I been led to believe.”

Bogo’s glower did not let up, but maybe tightened a bit more before fully relaxing into a casual smile, “Thank you, I appreciate that.”   _ Click. _

Gideon turned off the phone and stashed it into his overalls’ front pocket, with a long, heavy sigh.  With his paws to his knees, he stood himself up and stretched out before departing the window. Graves would see nothing more than his back, the fox knew, and that’s how it was going to be until he got something on that could better hide Nick’s cell phone.  Returning to his room, Gideon ditched his damp overalls for a clean pair of jeans, an undershirt, and a button-up of mainly neutral colors. “It’s time to whip some cream,” he said as he rolled up his sleeves, and gave his arms a few bending flexes to warm them up as he headed into the kitchen with a sly grin, “And maybe do something a…  _ little _ bit crazy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll recall Officer Benjamin Clawhauser was contacted at the beginning of Trustworthy. In this story, he, Nick, Finnick, and Flash Slothmore (from the DMV) went to high school together in a sort of... outcast group. Benny was much thinner back then, exemplifying the cheetah iconography of a lithe, athletic runner; in fact, for about a month, Benny held the world record for the 100-meter dash until he was dethroned by a spotted wilddog at a foreign academy, by a tenth-of-a-second.
> 
> You might also recall that Gideon met "some old lion" when he was about three-years-old (midway through Trustworthy). I state for the record that the supernatural does not exist in this iteration of Zootopia any more or less than it does in the real world of my dear readers, in that, there are unexplained phenomena happening all the time that are rationalized by dreams or other such things; likewise, there are eye-witness accounts of spiritual entities, activities, etc. that are tangible (however ephemeral) but not necessarily quantifiable. As far as we know, there is nothing magical in the world of Zootopia that cannot be scientifically explained (anthropomorphized animals notwithstanding).
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	11. Chapter 11

It seemed different that go-around, making the whipped cream.  The first batch (before he knew about the essence of a toxic flower lurking inside) thrilled Gideon in that subtle kind of way, like opening a new jar of peanut butter; a certain mundane reverence for the untouched, both common and unique.  Currently, Gideon only felt a chill clinging to his bones; a certain mundane revulsion similar to the idea that spiders were hiding in every dark, narrow crevice. It wasn’t going to stop him, of course, the extra whipped cream was getting made and mixing it in with the deadly stuff was happening whether he liked it or not, and an assassin with a long-range rifle was making sure he obeyed.  To his advantage, though, there were no direct windows into the kitchen on the same wall as the one that Graves shot through, so he had something of a blind spot to work in,  _ But I can’t stay in it too long or else he’ll get suspicious.  Gotta look busy for the cameras _ , Gideon thought.

With a deadline of only a few hours and no desire to tire himself out for the sake of a dastardly deed, the pastry chef took out a mixer for its whipping utility.   _ What have I got to work with in here… _ he pondered, already acquainted with the fridge’s contents, he perused the pantry instead to figure the extent of his options.   _ Condensed milk… tha’s good, that’ll work, _ and pulled out a few cans of the almond-based cream,  _ Vanilla extract, of course… Now I need a base of some kind.  I used sunflower seed oil before and last time, like Bo said. _  And then remembered in a flash what Bo did to the previous batch of whipped cream on Saturday afternoon, and his own theory on what happened to Nick on Friday night, about how he thought his whipped cream had gone bad.   _ Bo swallowed a wad the size of his fist but then upchucked it, ‘iron stomach’ or not.  If I make my whipped cream with bad ingredients, those bunnies won’t be able to keep it down.  They’ll be saved! And Graves’ll see I did what he asked, and who’s the say that the Night Howler drug doesn’t just make bunnies sick anyway?  Nick said it was s’posed to be a ‘drug test’, so it’s not like there’s a set outcome, right? _

The fox beamed as that crazy thought itching at the edge of his mind came to light and reached further back into the pantry to pull out a bottle of sesame seed oil to check its expiration date.   _ This stuff went bad over a year ago, _ he grinned,  _ It’ll cause all kinds of upset tummies, and then those poor bunnies will get sick but it’s better than screaming to death, and pretty soon, all this will just be a bad memory.  Judy, Nick, and Essy will go back to the city, and I’ll go back to my… my bakery…  _ Another cold dread washed down his back.   _ Which… no one will want to go to after a whole bunch of bunnies get sick eating my pies at the TBR.  What if everyone thinks it’s some kind of nasty prank? I’ll have to close it down, heck, I’ll be lucky if I’m not run out of town on a rail.  I agreed to host the pie-eating contest for the publicity, after all; it was meant to bring in customers, not drive them away. And then there’s Mr. and Mrs. H to consider… they put their necks out going into business with me…  It was pullin’ teeth just to keep the torches and pitchforks at bay, buildin’ up trust, but I don’t have  _ nearly  _ enough brownie points to let something like this slide… if I have any at all, things considered… _

_ I’ll save everyone else, though, _ he numbly rationalized, gripping the bottle of sesame seed oil tighter,  _ I could… I could make up some big thing that I really  _ am  _ just a jerk, that way Mr. and Mrs. H could throw me under bus without an ounce of guilt.  All of Preds’ Corner could say ‘We’re not like  _ that _ ’, even make an example of me; things have been quieter since the Pred-Scare ended, so I’ll be seen as a lone fox.  I’d… I’d be betraying everyone I ever knew that believed in me… but they’d be alive. So… maybe I can live with that.  I won’t even move back in with Ma and Pa _ , he thought,  _ I’ll spare them the shame… I can take my trade elsewhere, maybe even go to the Knottedwood; I don’t think they get much in the way of news, so they won’t know what I did.  After all, I got family there, too, prob’ly lots of cousins, and a few aunts and uncles, and Grampub. _

_ Grampub… _

Gideon stood, still holding the bottle of expired cooking oil, not daring to leave the kitchen but instead gazing across the counter, dining table, and living room.  On the opposite wall was a framed portrait of his mother’s side of the family when she was little more than a toddler, the youngest of a litter of six, with two brothers and three sisters (one of whom was Aunt Jackie, no doubt), and of course, Piberius Savage himself, standing tall beside the eldest son on his right side, and his mate Clawdia (or as Gideon knew her, ‘Granna’, rest her soul) on the left.  Ma sang much better than she told stories, so all the tales of Admiral Savage and his voyage on the seas as part of the Royal Navy were overshadowed by the research that Essy did on their grandfather, “The notorious pirate,  _ Captain _ Piberius Savage”.  Gideon found it hard to believe  _ those _ stories, though, because he was always depicted missing his right eye and paw, yet in the portrait, he had both.  Instead, he often imagined that Grampub was like the Mr. Foxglove of yesteryear before he retired, even if one commanded a loyal crew and the other was a super-spy.  It let him think there was some of that heroism in  _ his  _ blood, too.

“You mistake me for someone heroic,” Mr. Foxglove often said, suavely so, and usually in good humor.  He went in, got the job done, saved everyone he  _ could _ save, but though he often put his life on the line to save just one more mammal, he denied ever being a “hero”.   _ Well, I ain’t a hero, either, I guess,  _ lamented Gideon,  _ I’m jus’ a country bumpkin that, for some reason, has lives dependin’ on him. _  He stared dully at the bottle he held… and with a flick of his thumb popped the cap of the expired sesame seed oil and leaned his head back to drip some onto his tongue for a taste, if just to figure out how bad a plan it was to mix it in with the whipped cream.  It was all he could do to spit it out in the sink, rather than anywhere else along his mad dash.

Gagging, Gideon washed it out as best he could, but the rancidness persisted through the vehement gurgling.  The nearest source of sweetness the fox saw was a jar of honey from the Knottedwood (sporting a clever label of a tree trunk tied in a knot) that Ma got delivered every now and then, and which he had out for morning tea but currently scooped out a dollop of to smear over his tongue.  Holding the spoon in his mouth grumpily, Gideon examined the jar and remembered how he couldn’t stand the stuff before he had fox-flu, but had since learned to enjoy it, and so he lapped the silverware between his jaws idly. He then glanced to the pantry’s ajar door and remembered seeing  _ something  _ in there that, crazy as it sounded, might just be able to help him avoid a no-win scenario…

It was about noon by the time he finished, sitting nervously next to the telephone with a stack of differently stylized plasticware, each filled with Night Howler-laced whipped cream.  Only after several, arduous minutes did the phone ring, and even though he was expecting it Gideon about jumped out of his fur and scrambled to pick up.

“H-Hello!”

“Gunky.”

“Graves, I did what you asked, lots of whipped cream for today,” he said and clapped the top lid of the stack a smidgen louder than he intended.

“Doesn’t look like a lot.”

“It is, I was thinking about it, and what I’ll do is go back to my bakery, get all the fresh whipped cream, but the first pies that everyone’ll eat will have  _ this _ stuff on it.  Okay?”

“Hmm…”

Shifting about in his seat, the fox continued, “It’ll all look  _ exactly _ the same, and I’ll make sure that  _ these _ pies are served first.”

“How diluted is it?”

“‘How… diluted’?”

“By what ratio did you mix it, Gunky?”

He grunted in thought and held the phone to his shoulder, counting the containers and then his fingers, “I’d say it’s about… one-to-four, give or take?”

“Gunky…”

The fur went up from between Gideon’s ears down to the tip of his tail.

“You dumb,  _ dumb  _ fox.  You diluted it too much.”

“No, I didn’t, I really didn’t!”

“I guess that’s it, then, isn’t it.”

“Wait, Graves!”

“Expect to see your sister’s foot by the end of the day.”

“No, listen, please!”

“You’ll get the rest of her as the week progresses.”

“It’ll still work!”

“…”

“It’ll…” he choked, “It’s still strong enough to work.”

“Why should I believe a fox, especially one as desperate as you?”

“Because I saw what happened!” Gideon almost yelled, “A bunny had a little taste, a tiny bit, and she… she almost  _ died _ .  Dropped as soon as she swallowed, out like a light, and it wasn’t an hour, maybe  _ half _ -an-hour before she started shakin’ and gaspin’ like she was possessed, or somethin’.  The bunnies at this contest, they’ll be eating pies  _ covered _ in the stuff, so they’ll have plenty of it.”

“…”

“G-Graves?”

“Which bunny?”

“‘Which…’?”

“You said ‘a bunny’, so who is ‘she’?” Graves asked.

“I… I don’t…” worried Gideon.

“Will I have to repeat myself, Gunky?  You know I hate repeating myself.”

Only just managing to clap his paw over the mouthpiece of the phone, the fox whined a quiet apology,  _ I’m so sorry, Judy! _ and then swallowed the lump in his throat before answering, “It was Judy, Judy Hopps.”

“…No kidding.”

“Yeah…” he lamented, feeling like he just handed her over for execution.

“And she seized up, huh?”

“Y-Yeah, I think that’s the word for it.  Why?”

“Did she do anything else?”

“I… I dunno…”

“Think, fox,” Graves insisted, “what did she do after seizing?”

“I don’t know!” he  _ did  _ yell, about ready to seize up himself, “I dunno, she kinda… wheezed and stuff, went cold like she was dead…”  Stayed by his own terror of the idea, Gideon couldn’t bring himself to explain how she nearly screamed and so sealed the fates of not only him and Nick, but of the nurse, Lanny Wild, who just so happened to have the Night Howler antidote in his truck and was passing by on the same road.  Gideon’s head bowed as he ran his fingers through his bangs, putting the phone on the table as his shoulders shook.  _ She almost… she almost shrieked us to death… _

“Huh.”

“Huh?” Gideon replied, putting the phone back to his ear, “What’s ‘huh’, is ‘huh’ good?”

“Alright, fox, your sister gets to keep her ugly, painted toes and because you were actually helpful, Nick gets to keep all his teeth, too.  Good job.”

A mortified relief numbed Gideon, sitting in a cold sweat but hardly able to keep himself erect, aware that his heaving breaths were audible over the phone but not necessarily caring.

“All you need to do now is follow through on what you said you would.  I’ll be watching, so don’t do anything stupid. And keep your phone on you, I’ll buzz you when I let your friends go, or the sheriff will when they’re found, whichever comes first.  Nod if you got all that.”

Gideon nodded with bated breath.

_ Click. _

Turning off the phone and returning it to its cradle, Gideon slumped back in the chair before sliding out of it, feeling quite like a sack of molasses as he wobbled to his feet and picked up the stack of plasticware.  However, when he moved out of sight of the window he freed up his paws to spin about and glower, alternating between pointing a finger and shaking his fists at the phone,  _ You’re gonna get yours, just wait and see! _ and then nodded with confidence.  Feeling like an  _ upright _ sack of molasses, Gideon returned to his room to grab his wallet and keys, knowing that he’d done all he could to save as many mammals as possible (himself included) and a lot of his plan hinged on the assumption that he knew his food as well as he thought he did.   _ Nick certainly seems to think so _ , the fox pondered and then felt a little surer in the sheer craziness of his plan.

* * *

All the while he loaded up his van and secured the precarious payload inside his logo-emblazoned vat, Gideon kept his movements deliberate but shaky, still feeling the sniper’s scope on the back of his head and wondering if Graves was the type to simply  _ decide _ that he wasn’t needed anymore.   _ Not until the pie-eating contest, so long as I play along until then, _ the fox kept telling himself,  _ Just until Sheriff Longmare finds him, or Nick and Judy get the upper hand… or both!  Both could happen and ev’rything’ll be okay. _  Rubbing his paw on the van’s side, Gideon steeled his nerves as best he could,  _ Sure hope this works, _ and then climbed in behind the wheel to complete his own part, which in the best case scenario did nothing to catch the villain, but at least prevented disaster.

With his sunglasses in place, Gideon backed out from the driveway with practiced motions, utilizing his side mirrors in lieu of a rearview to turn onto the main road at which his family’s farm sat at the end of (in terms of residential farms, in any case, since it did loop back towards Preds’ Corner in a roundabout fashion).  The day was bright and the sky checkered in fluffy whites with hardly a hint of any gray threatening the peace of the Tri-Burrow Reunion’s initiation. However, as Gideon pulled along and into view of a collection of buildings which only the night before was little more than a sleepy silhouette, it became clear to him that if anything were to disrupt the festivities of a once-to-thrice in a lifetime celebration like the TBR, it would be the same societal upheaval that almost brought it to a screeching halt the  _ last _ time.

“What the  _ heck _ ?” the understandably bewildered fox disbelieved, pulling to the side of the road to lean out his window and stare down at a cluster of tents (some still in the process of pitching) that  _ certainly _ weren’t there the last time he drove by, and something told him it had nothing to do with all the bunnies from Knotash.  He squinted through his tinted lenses and managed to make out a large poster of… “Is that a lion cub? No way… oh  _ jeez _ ,” he groaned and sat heavily into his seat, “It’s those  _ loonies _ looking for that ‘Missing Prince’!” he grumbled, and put his van back into gear to continue driving and griping, “Twenty years they been at it, turn over every rock darn near  _ everywhere _ ‘cept the moon, but somehow think he’s back in Preds’ Corner?  Well, this day jus’ got  _ better _ , didn’t it.”

Gideon was seven or eight when Simon King, son of corporate powerhouse Memphis King of  Pridelands Enterprises , went missing during the family’s vacation in a remote ranch house of Horseshire; despite a security detail that rivaled the mayor’s own protective services, young Simon King and Ryan Wild (son of Sam Wild, who himself was a powerhouse of the music world and close friend of the King family) vanished from the grounds without a trace.  Ryan showed up after the third day, huddled in a shipping container at one of the Pridelands loading docks in Lions Gate, and according to his testimony, was hidden there by Simon so  _ he _ could lead their pursuers away (who remain unconfirmed, much less identified).  The distance that the two cubs would need to travel unnoticed, and the idea that they were being chased, makes “The Missing Prince” one of the biggest, most conspiratorial unsolved mysteries in modern Zootopian history.

The fox still remembered the late-night search parties, the vigils, the false reports…  _ Which shoulda ended years and years ago _ , he huffed.  It’s not that Gideon was callous, merely chaffed that, of all times, “those loonies” had to show up and cause trouble, right when he thought it was safe to catch his breath.   _ Well… so long as they don’t nose about my corner of the TBR, I guess it won’t be that big an issue.  Still… why show up at all? _  It gave Gideon something else to ponder en route to his bakery, recalling not only the missing youth PSAs that popped up after the whole thing started but the broadcast segments from the biggest radio shock-jocks at the time, “‘No Worries’ with Tim & Bob” in Savannah Central.  It was them that shifted public opinion, ever-so-slightly, to sympathy for the King family; after all, as Tim often said, not even the great Memphis King was invulnerable to such a tragedy as the kidnapping and loss of a child. It was his mate, Sarah King, that brought awareness to missing youths those twenty years ago in the form of a charity ball (which Tim and Bob later parroted in a much more casual “Dress in Drag and Do the Hula” Luau for Lost Youngin’s, an event persisting to present day), and is said to have influenced the reform of outdated child-protection laws.

“They’d best not be in Bunnyburrow proper, neither,” Gideon grumped and let Preds’ Corner vanish from view in his mirror, elbow slung out the window as the warm, midday wind rushing through his fur.  As much as the fox enjoyed the breeze, however, he had to roll up his window on account of a ringing phone, his own phone (Nick’s phone was kept securely hidden by tucking it into the back of his pants and pulling his shirt over it).

It was Bo.  They exchanged numbers a few months prior in case of emergencies, and because the earthen-furred rabbit loved the cinnamon-raisin-oatmeal cookies Gideon made.  It used to be that Bo regarded Gideon the same way most of Bunnyburrow did (it didn’t help that there was some bullying that happened when they were kids before Bo moved away as a teenager, if more in the physical sense as opposed to Grav’s mental antagonism), but had since grown to like him in the same way most of Bunnyburrow did (which might have something to do with the acceptance shown by Judy and the rest of the Hopps household, upholding not only the fox’s reformation but also his top-notch skills as a pastry chef).  He attached the mobile device to his dashboard and flicked the green button to answer, doing his best to hide an inching dread, “Heya Bo, how’re you doin’?”

“Hiya Gid, I’m great, doin’ great.  It’s just, umm, this might be kind of  _ odd  _ to ask, but is Judy there with you?  Been trying to get in touch with her all morning, but she’s not picking up, and I heard she stayed at your house last night, so I figured you’d know where she was,” the rabbit said.

_ Ah jeez… _ Gideon cringed, quite glad it wasn’t a video call, so it gave him a chance to answer as best he could, “She…  _ isn’t _ here with me… right now, that is,  _ because _ … umm… I’m headed to my bakery to pick up all that whipped cream for today’s pie-eating contest.  Are you still goin’ to that?” he asked, thumbs drumming on the steering wheel.

“Oh…” a dismayed Bo replied, hemming some and hawing some, “I said I would, so I really should, but I was hoping Judy was there.  With you, I mean. She must have turned her phone off to sleep off yesterday; she did it in college after big tests and projects to ‘recharge her batteries’.  That’s prob’ly what’s up,” he said and sounded a little brighter, “By the way, did you ever hear from Grampa Reggie?”

“N-… No, I can’t say I  _ did. _ _ Should _ I have?” the fox asked, trying to recall  _ who _ “Reggie” was…  _ Oh, tha’s right, he’s Mr. H’s pop.  I coulda tripped over him and not know it.  What does he want with me, though? _

“Huh… I figured he got in touch with you somehow.  Judy and I chatted with him at the hospital last night, and then she needed to talk with you and Nick about something  _ really _ urgent,” and it sounded like he leaned in to whisper, “It was about Grav and the pie-eating contest, wasn’t it?” before speaking regularly again.  “Grampa Reggie wanted to apologize to me  _ directly _ for what Grav did, hitting me with his car and everything.”

“Speaking of,” Gideon queried, “are you up and about?”

“Oh, yeah!” Bo chuckled, “Was discharged this morning.  I’ll be ready for the tractor pull this afternoon, too. I’m here right now in fact, watching them set it up.  I offered to help, but they said they got it handled,” and made a grunt as though to shrug, “Anyway, what was I talking about… right, Grampa Reggie; he seemed nervous that you were just leaving the hospital, kinda like he  _ wanted _ to talk to you, but also  _ didn’t _ want to.  Does that make sense?”

_ Not a lick,  _ “I don’t know what he’d want to tell  _ me _ unless it has something to do with the contest… hey Bo, if you’re free, could you check on my tent?  Make sure it ain’t burned down, or somethin’.”

“You got it!” he said, seemingly happy to have a task set on his abnormally large shoulders, and then leaned in to whisper again, “I’ll report back any…  _ suspicious _ activity.”

Gideon was quite sure Bo winked to the phone before the call ended, and opened the driver-side window again to get back to thinking as he passed the rolling fields of Bunnyburrow and Horseshire beyond.   _ This really does feel like a Mr. Foxglove adventure, don’t it _ , he mused,  _ All those times I wished I were in one and here I am, jus’ barely hangin’ on by the tips of my claws.  It’s a good thing I’m only a baker and not a cop or a spy, huh? _

_I guess that thing Reggie wanted to tell me wasn’t life-or-death, elsewise he’d’ve called me by now; Mr. and Mrs. H have my number, he could’ve gotten it from them eas'ly, and it’s not like he was too far behind us that he couldn’t catch up.  Just what was he so nervous to tell me, anyway? I really don’t know much about Reggie… but I think I saw his name somewhere important when I went to the tent assignment yesterday, so I guess that makes him kind of a big shot in the TBR, don’t it._ Gideon cruised in mental silence and casually turned on the radio.

Grunting softly, a crazy idea nibbled at the edge of his thoughts, the fox suddenly sprung upright to clap both paws to the wheel,  _ What if he knew about the Night Howler?  I suppose he wouldn’t know that Nick or Judy or even Bo was onto this whole scheme, so he’d have to come to  _ me _ , wouldn’t he.  But if it  _ was _ something so life-and-death as that, he’d’ve been doubly sure to call me… _  The words of Chief Bogo charged to the forefront of his mind: “suspicious accident”.

“Oh gosh,” he said aloud, juggling his attention between driving with the sparse traffic road and the brainstorm thundering behind his eyes, “If Reggie knew about the Night Howler and wanted to tell me, Magnus would’ve hired the Gravedigger to keep him quiet…” thought on it, and then shook his head, “Tha’s jus’ a whole new level of crazy, Gideon, c’mon!  Magnus is prob’ly rotten to the core, but why would he kill his own pop? So far as either of ‘em knew, I didn’t even  _ know _ about the Night Howler until yesterday, which means the Gravedigger woulda just so happened to be in Bunnyburrow for someone  _ else _ , unless he  _ too _ is visiting family.”  And he huffed.

As the music from the radio continued, Gideon forced himself to relax into his seat, “Just… get the pie-eating contest over with, Graves will get caught by Sheriff Longmare, and life can go on.  Reggie probl’y just… maybe he had a change of heart about what he wanted to tell me, is all, no doubt somethin’ to do with a  _ fox _ bein’ part of the TBR, and thought better than to make a big deal about it.  Tha’s prob’ly all it was,” and continued along in simmering quiet until pulling onto the road he always used to get to his bakery from Preds’ Corner.

“What the  _ heck _ ?” Gideon once more exclaimed, stopping at the final turn when he spotted two cruisers from the sheriff’s office parked a few blocks down from his bakery, but directly in his usual route.  He leaned out a window and squinted through his tinted lenses, only yank himself back inside the van,  _ Jumpin’ Jehowlsephat!  If Graves sees me anywhere  _ near _ a deputy, who knows what he’ll do?  Like Essy always says, ‘The criminally insane are called “insane” for a reason’, he might think I’m going for help. _  And he recalled what scenarios he could of movies or TV shows where hostages were hurt because the kidnappers thought that the proper authorities might be involved.  Gideon shook his head again and pulled off to a side street to sneak around the commotion… but on the same token, he wanted to see what brought out  _ two _ deputies (or maybe even the sheriff herself!) on such an important day as the beginning of the TBR.

With a craning, rubbery neck, Gideon wove behind the buildings opposite of those facing the woods bordering Bunnyburrow proper (of which his was one) and slowed just enough to peek down an alleyway, dropping his sunglasses to the tip of his nose that he might recognize where the cruisers were parked.   _ Tha’s… tha’s the pawn shop.   Is Tad in trouble, or hurt? I mean, he’s kinda involved in this whole Night Howler thing, in a way…  Maybe it was that cousin of his, that gruff lookin’ ram Nick talked about on Saturday? Hoo boy, I’d best not linger, if tha’s the case… _  And promptly drove right along until arriving at the vacant lot behind his place of business and residence.  It felt like an eternity since he’d been home, and as he stepped up to the back door of his kitchen, breathed in its scents.

He could almost feel Nick’s presence as he unlocked the door to his kitchen and stepped inside, could almost smell him nearby, and gazed at the counter where Nick looked full-on at his uncovered back and how  _ he _ wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole.  Sixteen years he kept his scars secret. Sixteen years he kept anyone and everyone at arm’s reach.  And then this  _ city-fox _ , an estranged relation that he could’ve gone his whole life without ever knowing existed falls out of the blue and reveals to all the real Gideon Grey.  But the weirdest thing about it was that Gideon was grateful to him for it. Reaching into the bucket he usually kept for tossing scraps, he instead pulled out Nick’s torn, raggedy shirt he tried so hard to get clean of the cooking oil he spilled on it, and in his mental anguish, nearly ripped in half.  Somehow, Nick got both of his  _ own _ shirts off, as if it were so  _ easy _ to peel back a shell formed over half-a-lifetime, and then they chased and played and wrestled like kits as if they had known each other forever…

It reminded Gideon of Travis Blackfoot, back when they couldn’t go a day without finding something fun to do… or someone small to bully.  He really was Gideon’s best friend before pred-therapy and as much as he hated to admit it, Grav was right; Travis didn’t stick around after going to Brackwater High with every other young mammal while Gideon was in the Lost Boys with every other “troubled young predator”.  When he moved to the city for college, he was gone for good.  _ I can’t believe that Travis was just one of Grav’s lackeys, though,  _ Gideon decided and threw the shirt back into the bucket whence it came, recalling the jailed bunny’s barb,  _ I knew Travis better than Grav ever could, and he was a ferret, sure, but we were best buds, thick as thieves, his family just… they just didn’t want him palling around with me anymore, I guess, not that I blame ‘em, all things considered. _

Breathing deep, Gideon went over to the fridge wherein Saturday's hard work awaited its use and unlocked it to transfer the multitude of identical containers of clean whipped cream to his van, one armful at a time.  With each load of fluffy white sweetness, he wondered where Nick was, where the Gravedigger was holding him, Essy, and Judy, and if they were still okay. It gnawed at him, that mounting doubt, but his belief in his friends kept him together.   _ Jus’ one more step, jus’ one more step _ , Gideon repeated to himself in a humming hymn, and when the last container was secured in his van, he moved on to the multitudinous trays of tiny, bunny-sized pies.  His nose tingled with the strongest memory of Nick’s scent with each stack he moved, so he blinked away the forming mist as the transfer of baked goods reached its completion.

“Don’t worry, cous’, you got my back and I got yours.  We’ll remember all this and laugh, we will, we jus’ need to hold on for a bit longer,” he assured the whipped cream and pies filling his van before closing its doors.

Probing one last time down the street, the baker lamented the deputies’ persisting presence at Tad’s pawn shop, and though he could make out no details of the situation, it was clear to him that whatever happened there was  _ big _ , and fretted whether Chief Bogo would be able to pull Sheriff Longmare’s attention away from it long enough to look for the Gravedigger.   _ Did he mean to do that? _ struck the thought,  _ Bogo said that Graves was meticulous, patient, and ruthless, all the things a villain needs to be to cook up evil schemes inside of other, bigger evil schemes…  Nick, Jude, and me might very well be alone in thwarting this guy, which the best we could do is get away with Essy in one piece…? _  He scratched behind his ears in thought and then put his sunglasses back on,  _ I got my part to finish, don’t I, and that’s the best I can do for right now _ , and returned to his van to drive off for the TBR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reginald Hopps was "introduced" (for lack of a better term) in the latter half of Trustworthy as an off-screen character, eager to talk with Judy and Bo about all that nasty Grav business. More on him later. Similarly, the event Gideon told Graves about is also in the latter half of Trustworthy. More on that later, too.
> 
> The important thing is that there are some of "Lion King" references concerning an event alluded to with Sheriff Rachel Longmare's reverie and properly introduced in this chapter. Several years ago (back before Zootopia) I thought up a modern-day retelling of the "Lion King" wherein Simba (named "Simon") went into hiding after the death of his father, eventually returning under the guise of an IT to claim the last will and testament from his evil CEO uncle, Scar. That story was adapted to what you've read here as a sort of cross between the Limburgh Baby and Elvis, in that Simon King vanished off the face of the planet (perhaps a bit closer in line with what happened to Simba). Memphis and Sarah King are Mufasa and Sarabi, respectively, while the shock jocks Tim O'Nare and Bob Pigg are none other than Zootopian analogs of Timon and Pumbaa. Sam and Ryan Wild are directly named after Samson and Ryan from the movie, "The Wild".
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	12. Chapter 12

It was a small mercy that Gideon received no calls from either Graves or anyone else en route to the TBR (having figured some time ago that the sniper called him on the house phone  _ not _ because it was the only available option for communication, but to position him next to a specific window), and with a sunlit breeze whipping his fur about once more, the fox let his mind wander to other, non-life-threatening things.  Like what he was going to do afterward, especially now that he needn’t be afraid of anyone finding out about his mangled back.  _ And even if they did, so what? _ he couldn’t help but muse,  _ Maybe I should come up with cool stories for these scars… even the muzzle?  I… coulda been a fighter, real rough-’n’- tumble like Pa was before he came up north with Essy.  Or an adventurer like Grampub, livin’ by my wits and claws. Something a li’l more int’resting than punished for bein’ a bully. _  He bit his dark, bottom lip at the whimsy of it all, and when his pinned ears flushed bright red he kneaded the steering wheel,  _ Maybe I could even meet someone…  Wasn’t ever possible before, all things considered, but now? _  Out on the open road, with no one within earshot, he allowed himself a quiet, gleeful chuckle.  It felt good to be happy again, and as the uniform white tents of the TBR came into view, decorated in festive rainbow streamers and towering pillars of balloons, Gideon felt more than able to reflect its vibrant merriment, despite the underlying shadow that loomed over him and his loved ones.

Approaching the gateway leading into an access lot behind a number of the tents, Gideon waved to the equine guard, “Howdy Junior,” the fox said, and received a hoofed wave in turn.

“Hiya Mr. Grey,” replied ‘Junior’, sliding open the metal barrier, which to him was only waist-high.

“You can call me ‘Gideon’, I won’t mind.”

“You won’t, my supervisor  _ will _ ,” the horse groaned and gently tapped at the tablet balanced on his hoof, “By the way, I suggest you keep an eye out, those ‘Lookers’ are in Horseshire again.”

“Aye, they were in Preds’ Corner, too,” the fox groaned in concurrence, “I s’pose their not being here was too much to hope for.  Hey Junior, I saw some deputies over by Tad’s pawn shop today. Have you heard anything about that?”

“I was going to ask if  _ you _ did.  I’ve been here all morning, but the grapevine’s on fire about it six ways to Sunday, and I can’t make head or tail of it,” he answered and then rolled his eyes with a grand gesture of his arm, “Some say he’s a terrorist, others say a demon worshiper, and that’s just in the last  _ hour _ .  I’ll have to wait until I hear it from Sheriff Longmare, or in the paper.”

Gideon hummed as he rolled in past the gateway, Junior closing it behind him, “Thanks for the heads up,” and waved out the window on his way around to the yellow-striped tent for the upcoming event.  He still remembered how Nick and Judy deduced its significance as the only colored tent, how it was meant as an identifier for those outside the TBR, the “unwitting subjects” of the drug test. He turned and reversed up the gentle slope to -- what he was relieved to see -- an already open tent flap with a short but burly someone standing and waving.

It was Bo.  And he came out to greet the fox wearing a faded yellow tank top and also faded blue jean shorts with frayed hems.  “Gid!” he called, both fists to his hips and chest pushed out, “I was beginning to wonder when you’d show up.”

“I ain’t  _ that _ late, the contest won’t be for another two hours,” Gideon called back after killing the engine and unlocking the rear door from a button on the dashboard, “Tent’s still standing, I see?”

“Oh, of course,” replied the chocolaty-rabbit, brushing his fingertips against his chest proudly, “I opened it up, aired it out, cleaned up some standing water, and checked the pump and oven.  All shipshape.” A box of tools was visible just inside the tent flap.

“Fast worker,” he chuckled and clapped the bare shoulder, “Is it laundry day, or somethin’?” asked the fox.

“Huh?” the rabbit grunted and looked down at his shabby self, laughing bashfully, “Oh!  Yeah, it kinda crept up on me. My line of work cuts how many times I can re-wear clothes, and this was the cleanest I had.”

Gideon’s demeanor shifted to a more serious tone, “A’ight, so you, uhh…” he whispered, leaning in with a gesture and putting his arm around Bo’s back, “Notice anything  _ off _ ?”

“All’s quiet on the western front,” was the answer behind a raised paw, short (for a bunny) ears perked, “No listening devices that  _ I _ could see, and no suspicious characters scoping the place out.  Best I can figure,  _ no _ one’s getting poisoned today.”  He grinned and gave a thumbs-up.

“Listen, Bo,” Gideon continued, wrestling with whether it was the best thing to do at the moment, but he looked about quickly before leaning in so close his snout nearly touched the rabbit’s ear, “I couldn’t tell you over the phone, but things are…  _ messy _ , right now.”

Bo’s brow furrowed with intent, but his eyes widened with concern, “What d’you mean by ‘messy’?”

The fox knew he passed the point of no return.  “Judy, Nick, and Essy were  _ kidnapped _ last night,” he said but the rabbit only choked a gasp in response.  Between the furious disbelief and the crippling worry, Gideon’s immediate paw at Bo’s chest to stay him was hardly different from holding a locomotive in place.  “Cool it, I’m scared too, but they’re safe so long as  _ we _ play along.  The sheriff’s looking for them  _ right now _ , and she’s got the best cops in the ZPD helping her.  I don’t know how, but  _ someone _ got the Night Howler out of her office, and I had to mix it with a new batch of whipped cream, except I made it so that none of the bunnies in the contest will eat  _ any  _ of it,” he said as succinctly as he could.

Worried brown eyes glanced down as the gears in his head processed the new, disturbing information, and it was then that Gideon had to brace his feet against the ground and the paw against Bo’s chest to keep him from falling over.  “I should’ve been there to protect Judy,” he finally concluded, a numb lamentation more under his breath if anything.

A consoling pat on the back later, the frowning fox gave what comfort he could to the distraught rabbit, “There weren’t anything you or I could’ve done, Bo.  What took her was an elite assassin, the meanest, shadiest guy in Zootopia. I’m scared-to-death because he got Essy and Nick, too,” Gideon reiterated, trying his best to maintain his own composure, and what helped in that regard was having someone else to share his worry, but also to support, “but it’s up to us to keep our heads on straight; so long as we let him think that we’re under his thumb, then the sheriff can nab him and save our friends.”

Bo’s breath eventually returned to him, as did the strength in his stance, and though his ears were pinned back he asked with determination, “They… they were got because we foiled the scheme with the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ , right?  So as long as nothing interrupts that plan, Judy and the others will be let go.  Right?”

“Right.  We just gotta make sure that the bunnies eat plenty of pies covered in whipped cream.  We do that, it’ll look like everything’s going along without a hitch… in fact, I could use your help with something,” he said with an insisting smile, and stood out of the huddle to toss his thumb back at the van, “I need you to check some of it out.”

They both approached the unlocked door of the van, Bo’s shoulders squared as he held his own hips in uncertainty (the last time he downed the stuff didn’t end well for him), Gideon smiling casually as he popped open the vat with its dangerous contents.  “Grab a few of those trays, if you’d be so kind,” he requested, nodding to the little pies as he turned to carry his armful of drugged confectionary into the tent. Inside, Gideon peeked through the front flap and saw that there was already a long table set up with a bright red checkered tablecloth secured into place and a half-dozen chairs along one side, and a stack of extras nearby.  He breathed deep,  _ I’ll need to make sure this works before anyone shows up,  _ he thought, noticing that the normal Reunion-goers were out-and-about in the main thoroughfare of the festivities, and then turned towards Bo as he set down the pies.

“So, all that’s poisoned, huh?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Yep.  It’s a bit  _ ‘diluted’ _ , on account I had to stretch it out, but it’ll still be bad if anyone swallows it all the same,” explained the baker, and pulled off the lid of one and leaned in to sniff it with a mildly pleased trill.  Bo watched curiously, and at Gideon’s beckoning, leaned over to sniff it himself.

The rabbit cringed and reeled to wipe his nose, “ _ Yeesh _ , what’d you put in there?” he asked, if suspicious since it clearly wasn’t something that affected  _ Gideon _ .

“ _ Psst! _ ” hissed a voice when the fox opened his mouth to answer only to snap his jaw shut and whisk about with a line of fur rising from ears to tail-tip, the rabbit’s ears springing high for the noise, “Down here!”  Both smaller mammals nearly jumped when they saw a large, pouting, tawny face sticking out between a pair of great mitt-like paws from under one the tent’s walls.

“ _ Lanny? _ ” gawked Gideon.

“Hey, you’re that nurse from the hospital last night!” Bo said with growing (if shocked) delight, “But… what’re you doing  _ here _ ?”

Lanny’s eyes widened and brows arched when he recognized the rabbit, “Oh!  You’re the bunny that got hit with the car… What’re  _ you _ doing here, you should be resting?”

“Hey, I asked you first,” Bo remarked smugly.

Gideon walked over and crouched nearby, “How’d you know to come here?”

Lanny glanced up as he sighed through his bottom lip, “Nick texted me at two-in-the-morning about your yellow tent and a ‘Just in case’.  So  _ after _ breakfast, I packed up all my stuff, drove here, parked a ways off, and then walked the distance; only to find a bunch of those stupid  _ Lookers _ prowling about!  So I slipped inside the tent to hide until they left… but they  _ still _ haven’t!”

Bo scratched his head with confusion, not about “Lookers” since he was old enough to remember the Missing Prince fiasco and the nigh-cult it caused, but he never had a reason to  _ hide _ from them, “What, are they dangerous?”

“You ain’t Simon King, though,” Gideon reasoned.

“I’m a  _ lion _ !   _ All _ lions my age have been ducking those nutcases ever since it all started,” he grumbled, “I thought I was safe in your tent until  _ he _ came around,” and nodded towards a taken-aback Bo, “It’s a lucky thing  _ this _ tent was empty.”

“I wouldn’t’ve snitched on you, or anything, you practically saved my life!” the bunny pleaded, and at a quirked brow from Gideon, “Okay, maybe it’s more like my  _ week _ , but he definitely saved me all the same.”

Lanny frowned and glanced up apologetically, “I’m sorry, but I didn’t recognize you and I couldn’t risk getting found by them.”

“And you’ve been stuck in there all this time?  Why didn’t you call me or Nick? Or… well,  _ any _ one to come help?” asked Gideon.

“I forgot my phone in the truck…” he mumbled with bashful self-disappointment, “I brought the Night Howler antidote, but I didn’t bring my  _ phone _ …”

Bo’s fist clapped to his palm.  “An antidote, of course! Clever thinking, Nick,” he commended and then quirked a brow in thought, half-a-smile persisting still, “How’d Nick find a nurse with the antidote, anyway?”

Poised to answer, Gideon halted when he realized that telling Bo about Judy’s little “taste test” might  _ not _ be the best course of action at the moment, considering he was not known for his rationalism when it came to her well-being and  _ Nick _ (perhaps one of the most rational mammals he could think of, behind his sister) about bit her head off for doing something so foolhardy as testing an unknown drug on herself.  When  _ Lanny _ opened his mouth to answer, the fox swiped one of the nearby pies to stuff it into the feline’s maw and snapped it shut with a gentle push on the snout, “Lanny here got my van out of a ditch last night.”  Grateful though the lion was for food (as evidenced by a mewling moan at the taste of the pie), he gave a doubtful glance towards the fox amidst the audible munching, “ _ Judy  _ can explain it better when you meet up with her again,” Gideon explained to Bo but  _ said _ to Lanny.

Skeptical hazel eyes glanced between the two predators, and he scratched at the other side of his head, “…And you just started talking about the Night Howler antidote?”

Once again, Lanny opened his mouth to answer but was stopped by another pie, and munched with hinted frustration as he glanced up to an awkwardly grinning Gideon, “It was… umm…”

“Gid…” said Bo, arms crossed over a squaring chest, standing up to his full height (ears included), “You trusted me enough to bring me into this on Saturday, so why don’t you trust me enough to tell me what happened last night?  I’d bet  _ Lanny  _ knows,” he accused the fox while nodding to the lion.  In the absence of any response, a long, powerful bunny foot thumped the temporary tile floor of the tent, “This is about  _ Judy _ , isn’t it?”

“Maybe…” the fox mumbled, twiddling his fingers and looking to his fellow predator for support, but only got an arched brow, hooded eyelids, and then an open mouth with expectant, guttural vocalization.  Perhaps it wasn’t so much intimidation that persuaded Gideon to spill the beans (even though he was  _ quite _ sure that Bo could lift him over his head and throw him like a beach ball) but a remorse that he, indeed, displayed an undue distrust of someone who was as deeply involved in the predicament as he was.  After supplying one more pie to the lion, Gideon stood up with a clap of paws to his haunches, “Judy… she ate the whipped cream, only a teensy bit, and we tried to talk her out of it but I guess she wanted to prove somethin’… not to us but to  _ herself _ .   Nick and I… we  _ barely _ caught her before she hit the ground, right outside the farmhouse, and as it was, her Uncle Magnus and Aunt Clea were inside at the time, so bringin’ her knocked-out body back in was a bad, _ bad _ idea, so instead, we got in the van and drove to the hospital, but we pulled off to the side of the road and got stuck.”

“That’s where I come in,” Lanny said as he finished off the third pie with a lick of his lips, and sounding much more amiable because, “After I cleared their van of that ditch and was about to leave, Gid here bursts out with a seizing bunny intoxicated with  _ midnicampum holicithias _ , according to Nick.  Now, I’m not a doctor but I still have the oath to uphold, so before anything else, I fetch the case of antidote that my paranoid hospital director makes everyone carry with them at all times.  I’ll be honest, I had my doubt it’d work because she wasn’t exhibiting  _ any _ of the normal signs for Night Howler ingestion, but I administered it, and after a minute or so she came to, healthy as could be.”

Gideon rubbed his lower back and cleared his throat, “We were caught red-pawed at that point, and told Lanny all we learned.  It was the least we could do for saving the three of us as he did.”

“Well…” the lion bashfully dismissed.

The fox grinned sincerely and scratched his cheek, “Anywho, I guess Nick wanted the antidote near the contest, ‘just in case’,” the fox air-quoted with a shrug of his shoulders, “But I’m hopin’ it doesn’t come to that.”

Bo remained silent, arms still crossed and brow furrowed, but it looked like he -- once again -- wrestled with two conflicting, negative emotions… even if he  _ was _ looking expectantly at Gideon, and it hardly seemed like he was wanting one of the pies.

“…I’m sorry I hid that from ya’, Bo, it weren’t right of me to do so,” the fox apologized, and almost immediately the rabbit’s shoulders sagged when he shuffled his feet as though equally admonished.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he said, though not in a way that he simply dismissed the remorse, but rather accepted in full what was rightly due.  He rubbed his nape, the worry and fear as obvious to the sensitive noses of both predators as the whiskers on their faces, and if either Nick or Judy were there to read the earthen-rabbit, she (but  _ not _ he) would be remiss to elaborate how Bo tried with all his gumption to not admit through ov _ ert _ action that Gideon’s assumption of any over- _ re _ action on his part was absolutely correct.  Indeed, it was perhaps the posturing between young males which mitigated his over _ whelming _ desire to protect the bunny he loved, allowing him to keep a cool head and so participate in a plan that could easily derail with short-sighted, if admirable, attempts at heroism.  Luckily for the rabbit, his turmoil remained internal, for neither Gideon nor Lanny witnessed anything more than a collected individual handling even  _ more _ bad news with maturity (were it not for his foot thumping a mile-a-minute and nearly drowning out their thoughts).  “Alright, let’s get this thing started!” he beamed and clapped his paws, so stopping his rabbit-related tells.

“So I’ll keep waiting here, then?” Lanny assumed.

“‘Fraid so,” Gideon admitted, “Anything I can get ya’?”

“How about a tray of those pies and some water?” the lion asked with appreciable hope.

“Comin’ right up,” the fox chimed and grabbed the tray from which he pulled the pies initially and, as Lanny scuttled back, paused in confusion before slipping it under the tent wall, “I’ll pump ya’ some water in a jiffy.”   _ Tha’s weird… _ he thought as Bo was carrying trays of pies from the van to the counter and the portable refrigeration unit, and took a moment to count off on his fingers,  _ Lessee… I put ten pies on each tray for easy counting, and I gave Lanny three pies off  _ that _ tray, but there were only six pies on it… did I miscount a pie? _  He grabbed up a large cup from the supply of cooking utensils he’d brought over the day before and pumped some fresh, cool water into it.   _ Oh, Bo really did a wonder on this thing, _ the fox admired as the miscounting slipped his mind.  He supplied Lanny with a source of hydration and then went about warming up the portable oven.

“Hey Gid, have you seen my sunglasses?” a mildly dismayed Bo asked, staring at an empty spot on a nearby table.

“Those glow-in-the-dark ones?”

“Yeah, I left them right here a few minutes ago, but they up and walked off,” and checked underneath the elevated surface in case they fell, but to no avail.

“And you’re  _ sure _ you had ‘em?” the fox said with growing concern, however minor.   _ I don’t usually miscount my pies… and they’re cheap sunglasses, but Bo looked so proud when he thought he earned them after talking fox with me and Nick… _

“Darn sure; I haven’t gone anywhere without them since Saturday, ya’know, for protection,” he grinned over his shoulder, but then shrugged and walked out of the tent to continue unloading, “I’ll find them later, they can’t have gotten far.”

_ He really thinks a bunny’ll get sunblindness,  _ Gideon chuckled, but it was a point of consideration that stuff went missing without cause, even if it was a pair of sunglasses and a pie or two.

“ _ Psst! _ ”

Gideon’s ears perked at another hiss from the tent’s wall, but when a cursory glance for the noise revealed no lion head poking out, he approached it and batted at the yellow-striped barrier.  “Lanny?” he harshly whispered, bending down to lift up the wall and poke his nose underneath but then remembered too little, too late that the nurse hid on the  _ other _ side of the tent…

It happened quickly, too quickly for Gideon to even realize that he was grabbed by his shirt collar until he was already whisked away to the  _ other _ unoccupied tent adjacent to his own.  He remembered the theories behind these “dummy tents”.  Maybe they were used for observation; maybe to hide someone who was the opposite of friendly.  As it was, the fox found his mouth held securely shut and a pair of bright, predatory eyes staring directly into his, and a row of keen, sharp fangs glistening in the sunlight that crept in through the vacant tent’s cracks.

The baker was paralyzed, staring up at who lured him, snatched him, and trapped him with such meticulous patience and flawless expertise that it boggled the mind.  He tried to talk, say _something_ but the clawed paw around his mouth kept everything a muffled whimper, while the other paw lifted a single finger to touch his hushing lips, before those rows of fangs glistened again.  Tears filled blue eyes as he gazed up, knowing that everything he thought, everything he felt in his very _soul_ about that taller carnivore pinning him to the ground was true beyond a shadow of a doubt, even though Gideon never knew him until that weekend; even though he would never have known him if not for circumstances so beyond his control, he could hardly think of himself as little more than a speck of dust caught in the wind.

There was no composure left in him, any steel he might’ve forged was gone… so he sobbed until the grass on which he trembled grew damp, and did the only thing he could possibly think to do in such a situation… with all his dwindling might, every fiber of strength left in his arms and core, Gideon flung his arms up and yelled as loud as a choked throat permitted in one final act of sanity…

“Stretch!” he hoarsely cried, and embraced his cousin whose bright green eyes -- those “Savage Eyes” -- smiled beneath a pair of glow-in-the-dark sunglasses perched atop his head; whose teeth gleamed behind dark lips curled in a smug grin with a lingering scent of pie; whose height boasted a solid two inches on the stouter fox but then seemed so much greater, as though he needed to hunch over to fit inside the tent.  He escaped the Gravedigger, somehow someway, and returned with the sly smile befitting a fox that dodged death, just as Gideon  _ knew _ he would…

 

* * *

 

As far as Nick could remember from the night before…

_ Those photos were from “Mack the Sparrow”, the fox knew it.  No one in the city could pull information out of thin air quite like he could, and this nugget was pried off the deepest, darkest underbelly of Zootopia.  Someone went to tremendous lengths to hide them, but after Nick asked Finnick, the Sparrow’s progeny, to find something on “Gideon Grey” cross-referenced with “predator therapy” from sixteen years ago, they arrived on his phone all the same. _

_ And boy-oh-boy, they found something, all right. _

_ Nick was on his third can of  _ _ Cub Soda _ _ , and it was nearly 4:00AM before the girls managed to wrap up a tight little case against Magnus and Clea Hopps.  All they needed was a proper smoking gun, and what a smoking gun arrived in the fox’s (encrypted) email. Now, there were plenty of things Nick saw in his life that haunted him (with the charred corpse of someone he knew holding the grand prize), but he was pretty sure he just found the runner-up.  Carbonated sugar water sprayed against the top of the can and against his own face in a cacophony, so Nick set the phone face-down on the counter of the Greys’ kitchen as he coughed and grabbed a towel to clean himself up with. _

_ What they, Judy and Esther, said wasn’t necessarily clear at the time, only how upset they were for Nick keeping “crucial evidence” from them for some “contrived reason”, “belittling them” in thinking that they couldn’t handle a “shock”.  Maybe it was the late night on a taxing case with sugar and caffeine combined into a monstrous state of agitation, but it was a mad chase to get the fox’s phone, calling on all his wily tricks to duck-and-weave until managing to slip out the kitchen’s back door.  Dunking the device into either the tub or the sink wouldn’t provide a long enough delay for him to speak his piece, so the rain barrel he spotted earlier would have to suffice. _

_ The three were outside, now, Nick getting yelled at for his “childish”, “chauvinistic” behavior but he stood firm against them.  Their words were dull echoes of indignation in his memory, but his words were loud and clear: _

_ “There!  You want to see it so badly, then dive in and get it!” _

_ … _

_ “If you see that picture, then that is the  _ only _ way you’ll ever see him again, and you’ll blame yourselves for it.  You already blame yourselves for what happened, and you can’t actually  _ see _ his scars.  Go ahead, tell me I’m wrong?” _

_ … _

_ “Because  _ I’ve _ only known him a weekend, Carrots, not my whole life!  …Or  _ his  _ whole life.” _

_ … _

_ “Cherries… I won’t fish that phone out but if you truly, sincerely want to see those photos, I will unlock it, but…” _

_ … _

_ “Carrots…?  Snipe-!” _

_ … _

Nick awoke in pain.  He was dehydrated, blindfolded, his wrists were bound behind his back, and there was a warped floorboard jutting into his hip.  In all honesty, it wasn’t the first time he found himself in such a situation, but the primary difference was that a swift strike from some manner of bludgeon jarred him out of the darkness between days as opposed to a foghorn, and Nick voiced his disapproval of such rudeness in a pained scream.

“Nick!”, as he knew his name to be, drifted across the haze of transition to consciousness.

“Your sister only has six toes but I can hit Nick all day, and it’s a lot less blood to clean up,” was the next, clearer phrase the fox heard.

_ ¿Que? _ Nick wondered,  _ He almost sounds familiar, who is that…? _  Once again his train of thought derailed as a second swift, stinging strike found his shoulder.  “Ow!” he barked with more enunciation, groaned, and then added, “That was sarcastic, by the way, in case you didn’t pick up on-” but was interrupted by another quick collision.   _ Jeez, these guys can’t take a joke. _

“Nick!” someone called again, somewhat more familiar now that pain cleared the head of any lingering, sleep-caused fog.

“Bangs?” came the surprised, staggering reply.

“I’m so sorry, Nick, I didn’t mean to-!” pleaded who could only be Gideon.

“Okay, that’s enough,” cut-off a familiar, bored voice leaving the fox’s earshot, on top of that a sack was shoved onto his head to prevent any further eavesdropping.

_ Ow, that really did hurt, _ thought Nick, shifting about where he lay while dipping in and out of consciousness,  _  And they’ve got a bag over my head, with -- what is this… vinegar? -- they must’ve spiked the bag with vinegar, no wonder I can’t smell them… And… wow, this is really pungent…  ‘Eh… _

_ It feels like my wrists are in a zip-tie with a bag around my paws, so my claws won’t do me much good.  Whoever these guys are, they know how to catch a fox. That was definitely Gideon, so the ‘sister’ Mr. In-Charge mentioned would be Esther.  Some kind of hostage situation, no doubt, and at least one of these schmucks is a professional; so, me plus Gideon plus kidnapper equals that hit job Finnick warned of last night.  Which… wow, that’s got to be a world record for response time… They must have already been in Bunnyburrow last night. Rabbits, perhaps? No, can’t be rabbits, even with me lying on the ground, they’d need to stand on a chair to get the kind of height to putt my shoulder as they did. _

Nick wiggled about, ears flicking as best they could in the bag, tail slapping and swishing on the ground as he endeavored to get a better grasp of his environment… until someone stepped and pinned his tail to the ground.  “Ah ah!” he gasped, “ _ Hey _ , that’s my tail!”

“Then stop moving it about or I’ll break it off,” replied an unhappy threat.

_ So they  _ do  _ talk.  I don’t recognize this guy, but there’s a definite bleating in his voice, and that foot was cloven, I should know.  Ergo: ram. Good chance Mr. In-Charge is  _ also _ a ram, barring any extraordinary circumstances; birds of a feather, and all that. _  “Oh!  Okay, sorry, sorry,” worried Nick, and curled up a bit more with his tail tucking in to further express a feigned concern, “The thing has a mind of its own, sometimes… gosh, sure is hard to breathe in this thing…” he wheezed, “It…  _ phew _ … really makes the head spin, doesn’t it… Hey, umm, could you loosen the bag a bit?  I’m mildly asthmatic, and wouldn’t mind a little fresh air-”

A hard strike of the bludgeon smacked the floor mere inches from Nick head.  “Shaddup.”

Nick cringed (with a little genuine fear mixed in to sell it) and curled until he was face-down with his knees anchored in the floor to spike his haunches in the air, even scrunching in further emphasis of submission.  “Okay, okay, loud and clear, zipping the lip… Oh, good news, the bag’s already loose. Hah, lucky me!” and wiggled a bit more to poke his mouth and nose out beneath the vinegar-spiked hem for a full, exaggerated breath.   _ Rookie mistake, boy-o.  When you remove the head-sack to show proof-of-life,  _ always _ recheck the knots on the hostage, _ the fox boasted.

“Hey!” the ram bleated, and as he stepped forward Nick wedged his toes beneath his knees until his haunches and spine coiled with spring-loaded potential, spreading his jaw to bare his fangs when the telltale hoof-fall neared.  Though evolved, it was clear to Nick that despite any advantage this sheep foolishly squandered in the situation, he was  _ no _ combatant and his instincts were still very much in control of his reactions; as such, glimpsing a set of very sharp, growling teeth going for his throat immediately froze the grazer for a precious split second as he loosed an instantaneous, frightened bleat.

_ And there’s your snout _ , Nick determined, snapping his jaw shut to brace his skull and spine, flexing every muscle in his stomach, chest, and back to headbutt the ram’s nose with all the strength his full body could afford, launching himself completely off the floor as the ram stumbled backward with his hostage landing on top.  It sounded like he wasn’t horned, from the severe lack of loud clattering (aside from the bat, at least), and he was as soft as a pillow even through his clothes, so Nick’s greatest challenge that morning was to fight every urge to fall asleep upon the downy wool of his assailant.  _ No… _ the fox thought,  _ must… resist… evil… mattress… But oh my gosh this guy is so comfortable…  If it weren’t for this stinky sack over my head, anyway, _ and flattened his ears to shake off the loose bag. _  So, vinegar to disrupt the sense of smell, and it’s strong enough to make me loopy.  Truly devious. Now, while I  _ could _ handle the rest of this blindfolded and both paws tied behind my back, I’m up against the clock and don’t have time to play around.  Let’s get to rescuing the damsels-in-… I mean,  _ damsel _ -in-distress, alongside my plucky sidekick. _

With a jerk of his tail, Nick rolled to the floor, on his back, arms used as a kickstand to suspend his padded hindpaws until both were well above his head, ever-so-slowly curling into himself with his toes almost touching his ears.   _ Benefits and hindrances to a body that is mostly torso: extraordinary flexibility to get one’s bound wrists around the butt, yet always a challenge to find a shirt that doesn’t show too much midriff,  _ the fox narrated as a form of mental centering while he carefully looped his arms past his ankles.   _ Phew… _ he huffed, and rolled back fully to land on his feet, standing upright with his bound wrists to his chest.  His teeth got to work tugging on the bag around his fingers so that his fingers could remove the blindfold, giving him all the visibility he needed to bite through the zip-tie.   _ That was annoying _ , he grunted and rubbed his newly freed but slightly chafed wrist before straightening his necktie, and finally got the opportunity to fully scope out his situation.

His ears were quick to swivel at anyone possibly approaching whatever room he was stashed in, wondering how much noise from that little scuffle attracted the others involved.   _ So far, so good, _ Nick ascertained, and then heard a soft groan from the guard… and with as precise a kick as was available to him, delivered a silencing knock-out blow,  _ They would need someone skilled to watch over Judy, more skilled than whoever this is.  So, this room is completely filled with shelves, _ he noticed,  _ and it’s all been cleared out in the center…  This room was meant for me, then, because any loose object on the ground would be a tool for escape.  Why not assign someone skilled to guard me? I’m almost insulted, and might just file a formal complaint to his supervisor for such shabby treatment.  Unfortunately, the fact that he’s a ram doesn’t really narrow down the possible candidates as to  _ who _ that is, exactly. _

He swept the room in a casual pivot and paws clasped behind him, careful not to step on the still out-cold sheep as hooded green eyes considered his surroundings.  His brows arched,  _ Shelves housing a random assortment of tagged knickknacks with obviously sentimental and some monetary value… I do declare I’m in the storage room of a pawn shop.  We’re probably still in Bunnyburrow, any further out would be too long a trip in what I  _ assume _ is too short a time.  With my regrettably limited knowledge, this amateur kidnapper may or may not be the local pawn shop owner, Tad Wooler.  Tsk tsk, Mr. Wooler, running with such an unsightly crowd. _

A quick clap to his back pocket, and then some frantic searching reminded Nick that he so cleverly tossed his cell phone into the rain barrel back at the Greys’ house, and then pinched the bridge of his nose in quiet self-reprimand.   _ In my defense, I didn’t think I would be kidnapped last night _ , he sighed, gathering up the discarded bindings,  _ Actually, it’s lucky I ditched it when I did, otherwise it’d be a pile of broken junk by now, courtesy of our kidnappers.  How clever of me. I still need to contact some local authorities, though. If memory serves, Gideon said that Tad’s pawn shop was a few blocks down from his bakery, which is good news for me, _ Nick recalled, quietly using the blindfold and the small pouch previously wrapped around his paws as a gag for the ram.  He carefully tore the pungent sack into one long strip to lash the cloven hooves together and looked duly proud of himself that his keen knowledge of Junior Ranger Scout knots once again came to his aid.  After a moment’s thought, Nick searched the ram for and found his burner phone.

_ Here we go _ , he grinned, and flipped it open to check the call history and logs, but about jumped from his fur when he saw the digital clock.   _ Jiminy Cricket, it’s almost noon!  How long was I out? Never mind, not as important right now.  So let’s see here… logs, logs… Ah ha, same number, all today, as expected…   _ And paused, thumb hovering over the emergency call button that came standard with most phones as his nostrils breathed in the vinegar-less air.   _ Tad here is  _ obviously  _ not Mr. In-Charge, but it’s not Tad’s voice I heard threatening Gideon when I first woke up, and yet I smell the presence of not but a single ram.  He must have set up a conference call, or he could have remote access to this very phone, maybe even monitoring it. I suppose it depends on how paranoid I am. _  Nick then rolled his eyes back in a mute guffaw and snapped the phone shut, flicking his wrist to toss it under one of the shelves.   _ I’ll call the sheriff on a secure line after I can ensure that my fellow hostages are, at least, alive.  I am a cop, after all, and a fox to boot; I can handle this before the baddies even figure out what’s up. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jiminy Cricket (referencing the character of the same name from "Pinocchio") is a fictional character from a popular (in-story) story about a young donkey colt who learns an important lesson about over-indulgence, lying, and generally being well-mannered, upholding the virtues of "Let your conscience be your guide" and "When you wish upon a star..."; a tongue-in-cheek exclamation amidst an out-of-control situation is "Jiminy, take the wheel!".
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They say that the only thing you'll catch of a fox is the sight of it; this is true. Shifties are the hardest to deal with amongst the chompers -- it's right there in the name -- and of them, foxes are the shiftiest, trickiest sort of folk you'll ever have to deal with. It's like... someone took all the stuff about cats and made it into a dog; yeah, hyenas are like that, too, all the stuff about dogs made into a cat. Foxes won't bite clean through your arm, though... they'll chew right through their own first if it means escaping. I seen it. And followed three trails of blood that all smacked right dab into a dead end. Took me years to catch that fox... and I'm darn sure it was more like they just got tired of running and gave themselves up, missing foot and all; so long as they got a quick, quiet end. I figure they were trying to hide something or someone... probably a whole family of foxes, I dunno... I got their tail, hanging right here on my belt... curse it all, still feels like I'm chasing them..."  
> -Huboart Middleroot, porcine "Pred tracker"

Sauntering over to the door, Nick stooped momentarily to pick up the baseball bat was surely used to beat him, and then crept into a crouch to listen in on the hallway.   _ Alright… time to save some lovely ladies, _ he planned, ear to the door as he slowly, cautiously turned the handle to peek out.  The connecting hallway felt large for the fox, which considering he was aiming for stealth, found it fit well to his advantage.  It was well insulated and had a charming wood-lined finish from floor to ceiling, the wallpapered walls boasting a single clipboard next to each door.  Glancing about, Nick figured it was an indoor walkway behind the storefront which gave Tad access to what looked like two identical storerooms,  _ Two rooms, three hostages… Would they risk holding Judy in the storefront in the middle of the day? _  Nick skulked over to that other door with the utmost care in his step and breath until he could put his ear to it.  It was mostly silent, save for soft, discomforted, and half-conscious feminine groans, as well as a faint shifting of fabric on wool mixed with a one-sided conversation already in progress.

“Ya’know,” a gruff voice said, which Nick immediately recognized as a certain flower-vending ram he saw on Friday, most likely still missing a chunk from his horn and ear on the same side, “you should consider yourself lucky that you got  _ me _ and not my cousin.  He’s, uhh… you could say he’s something of a ‘black sheep’, even though his wool’s kinda whitish; yeah.”

Nick pressed his face to the floor, peering beneath the door to spot what he could of the occupants.  As best he could figure from limited information, a pair of dark toes painted sparkly purple dangled from an oversized chair, and in between them and Nick were the heels of some cloven hooves.   _ He’s chatting with her… another rookie mistake, but maybe I can play this to my advantage… _

“Tad is… how do I put this… it’s not that he  _ hates _ you foxes or even chompers in general, far from it, but he was a bit  _ too _ eager to volunteer if ya’ catch my drift.  Auntie always said he was a weird one and D-…  _ Digger _ \-- that’s Mr. Graves,  _ Digger _ Graves, he’s callin’ the shots but you didn’t hear it from  _ me _ \-- said that he had to watch your boyfriend, instead.  Lemme tell ya’, Tad weren’t too happy ‘bout that and things got a bit heated between him and the boss; he even said ‘Don’t judge me, at least I’m not a  _ killer _ ’.  Can you believe it?  Sometimes I wonder because you know those  _ thwacks _ you heard?  Yeah, tha’s Tad lettin’ off steam, but believe you me it’s better than what he wanted to do to  _ you _ , bein’ so out of it as y’are.”

A frown followed the cold splashing down Nick’s back, stealing a glance over his shoulder at the room he left and gripped the bat a little tighter,  _ Maybe I should go do the world a favor…  But first things, first. You just keep rambling, Dent, so I can creep up and give  _ you _ a thwack; how’s that sound? _  Nick cracked open the door degree by excruciating degree, waiting for a horrific squeak to give him away.

“But you have nothing to worry about with  _ me, _ li’l missy, I keep to ewes, and ya’know, sometimes I like to mix it up with other prey, keep things fresh.  Tha’s not to say I wouldn’t  _ ever _ , with one of you,” Dent assured, blissfully unaware of an impending concussion slipping through the barely ajar door behind him.  “I don’t have anything personal against chompers -- heck, I love otters, they’re just so sweet, like little swimming bunnies -- but I can’t help get nervous around things with sharp teeth,  _ especially  _ shifties.  Tha’s why I’m not letting you out of my sight, y’see, not that I’m assuming you  _ would _ if you could; I’m sure you’re a  _ very _ nice individual generally speaking, but you understand where I’m coming from here.”

To the fox’s great relief, the hinges remained mute in his entry.   _ I should hit him across the head for a number of reasons… _ thought Nick, and held the bat at his shoulder, padded paws gliding across the floor without a single sound.

“Now, your boyfriend, he’s the type of fox that I’m a bit befuddled on.  I will be one-hundred percent honest, I don’t like him much, maybe I would if I knew him directly, but I don’t see that happening; know him directly, I mean.  I’m sure there’re plenty of mammals that  _ do _ \--  like that Ms. Judy Hopps, for example, she’s a swell lady, cute as can be -- but I’m wary that he’s not only a fox but a  _ cop _ .  In my line of work, both of those things don’t play well for me.  Obviously, as a cop, he and I don’t mix because I do what I gotta do to get by and that sometimes means breakin’ the law; it’s jus’ how it is,” he said and scratched at his cheek.  “Why, just the other day, when he came by my flower cart he was articulate and respectable -- quite an upstanding fox, if I may say so, even got you some nice daisies, very thoughtful -- but still, he managed to get away with a free bouquet, which I wasn’t  _ too _ upset about, because I knew it wouldn’t take him long to figure out what I was up to.  And as a  _ shifty _ \-- I jus’ want to put it out there that I _ will _ do business with raccoons, weasels, otters, and small cats, even foxes, nothing against any single individual or species -- but shifties are… well, trust is a big thing in my line of work, and if I can’t trust my-”

Nick brought the baseball bat down on the ram’s head as hard as he could and certainly got his attention, but since Dent was crowned in gnarled horns, it meant his skull was as sturdy as a helmet.  Slowly, when he realized what all was up, the ram stood to his full height and turned about to glare, hooves curling into tight fists as a fierce bleat rattled around in his clenched jaw.

“ _ Heh _ …” chuckled the fox in an apologetic grin, “That  _ usually _ works…”

Dent’s eyes narrowed when he recognized who struck him, and his nostrils flared with anger… until he grunted in confusion, the harshly knitted brow loosening and arching to glance down at Esther’s painted toes tapping between his knees.  With a snap of the kickboxer’s leg, Dent crumpled in an unholy shriek of male agony, watery eyes retreating up into his armor-plated cranium. After the fox shook off his empathic discomfort, he heaved the bat in a wide arch across the now nearer snout of the ram, who reeled where he knelt before collapsing in a weak groan when a second full-body swing bruised his face symmetrically.  Both foxes waited with tense expectation for him to remain quiet.

“Blue?” whispered a nearly delirious Esther, to which Nick vaulted forward and pulled the sack from her head, her nostrils flaring to catch his scent (along with fresh air) and looked on the verge of hysterical sobbing, “Oh my goodness, I thought… I thought…!”

Gentle paws pulled off the blindfold as he hushed her with coos and smiles, “Get a hold of yourself, Cherries, we’re not out the woods yet,” and leaned in to bite the zip-ties binding her to the chair, “It’s a good thing they didn’t tie up your legs, or else I’d’ve been in a  _ heap _ of trouble.”

“I just reacted, I didn’t think about it,” she finally pieced together, still audibly shaken, “I heard the  _ bonk _ , and then the grunting, and then I heard  _ you _ and I just figured, ‘Maybe he was close enough to kick’, and I found his knees but I knew I couldn’t get the momentum to take  _ those  _ out, so…”

“Yeah, it was pretty crazy,” he kindly cut in, “Alright, here we go,” and slipped an arm under her legs with the other around her shoulders to lift up and out of the chair.  The vixen held his neck for support as he cautiously walked around the ram and nearer the door.

“I can’t help but feel I’m a little out of my depth here, Blue…”

“Kinda fun, yeah?”

She hesitated and then chuckled nervously in a manner reminiscent of her brother, “Okay, maybe a  _ little _ .  So what  _ happened _ last night?  I remember I was upset at you, and then I forgave you, and then Judy was on the ground, and then  _ you _ were on the ground…”

“A sniper with long-ranged tranq darts,” he explained to conclude her memory, “Probably hidden away in the tree line or a neighboring farm.  They plucked off Judy first, otherwise she would have tackled you for as low a profile as possible before I even hit dirt, but still, I wasn’t some dawdling doofus so whoever took us out knew  _ how _ to do it.”

“Is this the kind of thing you and Judy deal with everyday…?”

“Well… yes, but not this  _ exactly _ , it’s a variety of things,” he mused, taking great care to point Esther’s feet to the floor and aid her in standing, “Alrighty, you get your wits about you with slow, deep breaths while I hogtie this cretin.”

The vixen wavered but stood upright, pushing her one loose bang back to cycle the air from her lungs as instructed, toes and heels anchoring into the ground with a centering posture, “And calm… Calm…”

After a quick sniff of the sack used for Esther, Nick hummed in thought,  _ Spiked with vinegar, same as mine, and I’m a lucky fox indeed that she had the wherewithal to attack with this thing on _ .  Similarly to Tad, Dent was gagged and lashed up with his hooves behind his back, and looking quite uncomfortable because.   _ There, that should do it, _ and Nick clapped his paws to finish.

“Thank you for saving me, Blue, and for shutting him up,” Esther said, and looked about expectantly, ears flicking with the turn of her head, “Where  _ are _ we, anyway?”

“By my keen detective work, we’re in the storage rooms of Tad Wooler’s pawn shop,” he explained, “I won’t bore you with how I reached that conclusion, because we have a much  _ more _ pressing issue hovering over us…”

She shivered, “I’ll say.  Tad Wooler was such a  _ creep _ back in high school…  He  _ really _ liked predator girls, or ‘chompers’,” the vixen spat, glaring at Dent, “I  _ thought _ all that stopped after he got caught peeping.”

“A peeping tom, you say?” Nick considered, and ushered her over to the door at a crouch, holding up a finger for silence as his ears scanned the hallway,  _ Still no response… I don’t like this, not one bit… _ and then led the way out and along the wall.

“Claimed he was ‘birdwatching’,” she whispered, “Why is that important, aside from being a sleazeball?”

“Because I think we’re in more danger than either of us realize,” he whispered back, “We need to find Tad’s bedroom.”

“Eww… whatever for?”

“If we are exceptionally lucky, to prove me wrong.”

With each step they crept, Nick felt his danger sense rising to peak levels, which ironically relaxed his pace and eventually didn’t bother to sneak.  He ignored the bewildered glances from the vixen following him as they traversed the indoor stairs up from the first-floor business into the overhead apartment, and found the door locked.  Not missing a beat, Nick held out his palm, “Bobby pin, please.”

“Oh!” Esther said, and hastily removed the remaining pin from behind her ear (thus letting both bangs hang freely at her cheeks).  “By the way,” she asked, waiting for the fox to pick the lock, “What  _ did _ you say to Judy after I pinned my bangs back last night?  Curiously speaking.”

He hummed to himself, eyes narrowing as he worked the jagged bend of metal into the handle-lock and fiddled it about, until it popped free without too much exertion, “I told her to ‘Ask me how I was going to get those bobby pins out’ of your hair.  I didn’t plan on using one as a lockpick, but here we are,” he teased and shrugged to a red-eared Esther, quite casually slipping the pin into his shirt’s breast pocket with a wink while opening the door, “Just in case.”

“And we’re not sneaking anymore because…?” she asked, though still keeping close to him.

“No need; he likely left  _ long _ before we ever got here,” the fox said plainly, conversationally, glancing around a living room fairly similar to Gideon’s own bachelor pad a few blocks down, with its share of familial mementos, character-defining details of a sheep growing up in Bunnyburrow as an amateur photographer and birdwatcher, standard furnishings of television, coffee table, shelves, and a couch, and while not impeccably clean it was tidy enough to entertain guests.

“Who’s this ‘he’, exactly?” Esther asked, “Is it the so-called ‘Digger Graves’ my captor so freely identified?”

“I’m sure the name stands the fur on the nape of your neck.”

“Of course it does,” she admitted, and though already okayed to talk normally, still spoke in a hushed tone, “It’s only suspiciously similar to one of the names that’s been on the ZPD’s ‘Most Wanted’ list the longest; granted, not at the  _ top _ …  It can’t really be  _ him _ , can it?”

“That’s what we’re here to figure out,” said Nick, stopping at a door that was certainly not the closet, pantry, or bathroom, and set his jaw to brace his palm beneath the handle with Esther nearly pressed to his back and shoulders.  Perhaps it was his partnership with Judy or his time on the force, but he kept one arm behind him in a manner protective of her as he prepared himself to open the door, and only then doing so with great caution.

“But why would the Gr-,” she stopped, and then continued in a harsh whisper, “ _ Gravedigger _ ”, before speaking normally, hoping against hope, “want anything to do with a ram like Tad Wooler?  One’s a canine and the other’s a sheep; one’s an elite assassin in the city and the other’s a creepy pawn shop owner from the country.  The only thing they have in common is that they both live in modern times. I doubt Tad’s even still doing  _ half _ the stuff he used to?”

“My dear Cherries,” the fox said grimly, glancing up at photo-covered walls and a sensible yet unmade bed, bookshelf, closet door, a desk on one wall, and a table immediately beneath the open window, upon which sat a very expensive looking camera visibly connected to a nearby computer and printer, “Tad never  _ stopped _ , he just developed methods that wouldn’t get him  _ caught _ .”  In a placidity that superbly masked his overwhelming disgust, Nick glanced at a collection of imagery that discriminated not for age, gender, situation, or species -- so long as they were of a predator species -- and then ushered a nauseous Esther away from the door, “I’m only going to be in there for a minute or so, so you stand watch  _ out here _ , okay?”

“ _ Why  _ do you need to go in  _ there _ ?” she accused in an undue but inadvertent revulsion of the tod.

“Because I need to see what Graves saw when he looked through that window.  Neither this ram nor this room was chosen at random, I’m quite sure of it,” Nick said in his best official but empathic tone of voice, “As soon as you said that Tad was a peeping tom, was caught before, and yet even to this day gave you a persisting case of the creeps, it hinted to me that he kept on peeping, and I daresay found a means to increase his creep-factor.

“Here’s the thing: observation at a distance is  _ the _ strong commonality between a sniper and a peeper, except the latter can get away with it for longer and from farther away than the former.  This bedroom almost certainly has direct line-of-sight with Preds’ Corner and its nearby farms, so it would be the best,  _ quickest _ place to scope out a sniping position.  If I can figure out where  _ he _ is, then we can rescue Judy and get Gideon out of his crosshairs.  Honestly? It’s a shot int he dark but I’m kind of hoping  _ some _ thing will jump out at me.”  To further answer her incredulous gasps, and closing the bedroom door enough that she would stop glancing in the expectation that something was poised to jump out of it, he continued, “Now that I know  _ who _ we’re dealing with, I can say for certain that our beloved bunny is  _ not _ in this house.”

Esther breathed deep with his palms together as bubbling hysteria strained her composure, the  closed door giving her a chance to recollect herself, “How do we even know she and Giddy are still  _ alive _ ?”

“Remember what we talked about last night?  We said that Finnick called to warn us that my and Gideon’s face was on the darknet, and due to the timing it’s more likely than not a hit job by…?”

“Magnus,” she about snapped, “ _ And? _ ”

“I heard Graves  _ threaten  _ Gideon with our wellbeing,” Nick explained, gesturing between the two of them, “No mention of Judy, by the way,  _ very _ telling.  Now, a job like this is  _ so _ outside of his purview as an uncatchable, cold-blooded solo act that even  _ entertaining _ the notion -- not to mention working with rank amateurs  _ surely _ cobbled together last-minute -- puts his reputation on the line for  _ any _ future clients, which for someone like him is his entire source of income.  How _ ever _ , what this tells me is that Magnus needs Gideon alive  _ long enough _ for a specific task; I’m thinking the pie-eating contest (which means there must have been a backup supply of the stuff in case things went south…).  Anyway, if Magnus found a way to get the Gravedigger to do a job he otherwise wouldn’t in a million years, then…?”

“Then he wouldn’t do anything to harm Judy or Giddy, because Magnus must have some kind of leverage on him!” Esther concluded after a building swell of excitement and relief… that drained when her ears went pale, “Aslan’s mane, we have to call Giddy, he has to know we’re okay!”

“ _ No _ ,” he said sternly, and before her eyes had the chance to shift color, “Right now, he’s being watched like a hawk by someone who will  _ not _ hesitate to intervene, so he’s safest when Graves  _ thinks _ that he can still use us as leverage.”  His paws, gentle as cotton, reached up to cup her cheeks so that their eyes locked, and said the most encouraging thing he could think to say, “Cherries, you need to have faith that he’s strong enough to handle this.”

Esther’s bottom lip quivered, eyes trembled, ears pinned as she gripped Nick’s wrists, slowly regaining herself.  “You’re right. You’re right, I just… I just got him  _ back _ , Blue, and I don’t want to lose him again,” and rubbed Nick’s forearms a bit before dropping both paws behind her with a succinct clearing of the throat, “It does make one wonder, doesn’t it, that if Magnus really  _ can  _ pressure someone like the Gravedigger…”

Nick smirked and gripped her shoulder, before speaking casually, “Then we can take solace in knowing that because he  _ is _ using such a dangerous ace up his sleeve, he’s likely on the ropes and run out of otherwise reasonable options, so all it’ll take is  _ one _ slip-up and he’ll hang himself on his own petard,” and turned to enter the vile room.

“What could he  _ possibly _ have, though?” the vixen aloud wondered, if more to herself.

Nick was hardly one to pass up sounding smart, though.  “Probably knows the Gravedigger’s  _ true _ identity.  Anonymity is to assassination as jam is to toast, after all.”

“Blue.”

“Hmm?”

“‘ _ True _ identity’?  The  _ ZPD _ hasn’t even  _ claimed _ to know who he is,” she challenged, daring a half-smirk.

He quirked a brow over his shoulder, and then paid her a half-smirk in turn before pivoting back around to lean on the doorframe, “Can’t get anything past you, can I.  I sort-of-work with a wolf pack at the ZPD, the alpha of which whom all other wolf alphas across the city defer to, Captain Alphonse Kela. As his ‘Alpha’s Omega’, I’m privy to some juicy info from time-to-time, and since I heard something that directly relates to but does not otherwise aid us in our current pickle, I don’t mind telling it and feel no guilt in keeping it secret until now.  The Gravedigger  _ is _ a wolf, and he  _ has  _ been identified, if falsely.”

Esther stared hard, ears forward and head canted, “How so?”

Nick scratched his neck before answering with a hesitant groan, “There’s  _ another  _ wolf alpha to whom all the others defer but in a different way, a sort of polar opposite of Kela, calls himself the ‘Captain of the  _ Secret  _ Police’ -- not many outside the wolf community or Zootopian underworld have heard of him -- and it was thought that the Gravedigger was part of  _ his _ pack.  The only problem with this theory is that the suspected wolf is long dead.”  The fox then smirked in full and shrugged to the stunned vixen, “You go ahead and chew on that for a minute while I take a gander out this sicko’s window,” and slipped in through the door.

“Great.”  Esther threw her arms in the air and spun on her heel to then cross them over her chest, “A literal  _ ghost sniper _ , that’s just  _ great _ .”

The room stank of air freshener, a sinus-numbing sanitation neither natural nor inviting, even with the open window to air it all out.  Nick kept his eyes on the table and its accompanying chair so to withstand the photographs mocking his peripheral vision. He refrained from touching anything in the room but still needed a wolf’s-eye-view of the landscape, so he squatted in Tad’s chair,  _ Memo to self: burn feet when this is all over. _  Grunting in thought, the fox studied what buildings were visible from that window, paws at his knees and fingers tapping to some unnamed rhythm.   _ Let’s see…  The woods would leave far too many variables, same with those farms.  The families are on vacation, but a tight-knit community like this isn’t going to let things go unattended for long.  He’ll need to hole up somewhere in the town itself, a building with at least two stories… non-residential… Magnus might have some pull with the bunnies down there, so inhabitancy may or may not be an issue, per se… easy or manageable escape route…  Hold the phone, what have we here? _

Still wary to touch  _ anything _ , Nick spun the office chair towards the computer to grab a few tissues from a box near the keyboard, and with his paws sufficiently covered, picked up a sizeable pair of binoculars hanging on a nearby hook, and leveled them for a look-see.   _ Well, bless my sneaky little heart, ‘The Prince’s Guard’, the fastest mobilizing force in Zootopia _ , the fox inwardly boasted, grinning when he spotted the pitching tents outside of Preds’ Corner,  _ With them scouring the area on their wild goose chase, Ol’ Graves won’t have a snowball’s chance of slipping out undetected.  Admittedly, my initial plan of getting them to annoy the visitors of Knotash until the Felix came over to smooth things out was something of a long shot, but I think I like this better. _

In modern Zootopian vernacular, a member of any prey species (in the specific example of Tad Wooler, a sheep) with a certain degree of fascination for members of any predator species might be categorized by other mammals as a “predo” (a diminutive of the coined word “predophile”), and at times ostracized to varying degrees reflective of their fascination (to date, there is no reciprocal word of “preyo” that has since caught on).  The word “predo” carries with it specific negative connotations and activities beyond working with or in close association that some might designate as “unwholesome” or “just plain wrong”, whether or not there is a mutual attraction between consenting adult mammals; the term, originally used to demean, has since adapted into a neutral descriptor. Communities of “predos” have recently formed, upholding their lifestyle proudly and openly, even aligning themselves with the former Mayor Lionheart’s “Mammal Inclusion Initiative” (whether this was his intent or not is uncommented on one way or the other).  It’s worth mentioning that even in the “predo” community, snapping salacious pictures of predators without their knowledge -- much less their consent -- is unanimously agreed upon as “unwholesome” and “just plain wrong”.

While Nick kept his own thoughts on the relationships between others close to the vest (unless a snappy snippet of snark was apt), how an individual treated their fellow mammals was often and freely critiqued via equally snappy snippets of snark, whether vocal and/or pantomimed.  In the case of Tad Wooler’s  _ boudoir _ and its vantage point of Preds’ Corner, Nick only just finished his reconnaissance by exiting the room as though it were overflowing with cobwebs, as well as a voiced intent to engage in lengthy self-cleansing.  After much ado, the fox directed a closely adjacent Esther at a swift pace. “Good news, bad news,” he reported, “Bad news first?”

“Any news, at this point,” Esther answered.

“We’ll go in order of dramatic effect, then.  Bad news: I couldn’t pinpoint which building he’s hunkered in.”

“Oh… okay, I guess the good news is we’re  _ not _ going to confront the Gravedigger, but let the sheriff’s office know that he’s in Preds’ Corner so they can go after him themselves?”

“Cheeky.  Additionally, the good news is that the cavalry I called for arrived and has him pinned down,” the fox reported, taking the stairs quickly but carefully.

“ _ Cavalry _ ?  What ‘cavalry’?”

“A swathe of misguided souls looking for someone who’s either dead or in hiding.  Not that I’m one to demean mammals passionate about their hobby (depending on their ‘hobby’, of course), but there is no group in the city that can gather in a place faster than those in search of the Missing Prince,” Nick said while checking in on Tad,  _ Yep, still out cold. _

“You know what, I’m not even going to ask how you got them out here in under an hour, because I’ve seen them pop up at the weirdest times in the weirdest places, and I’m still trying to wrap my brain around a  _ dead wolf  _ holding us hostage in some  _ sicko’s _ house,” she grouched.  Esther leaned in over the fox’s shoulder to peer through the dark storage room and the pile of wool showing only the barest signs of unconscious life.  “How  _ did _ you take him out?  He’s no little lamb and you must’ve been blindfolded same as me, not to mention that awful, pungent sack they certainly put over your head.”

With a casual smugness manifesting as best it did in a shrug and a smirk, Nick gingerly gestured her out from the doorway, “He didn’t secure my head-sack after showing proof-of-life to Gideon over the phone, which let me shake it off and get the drop on Bad Tad by introducing my skull to his nose with impunity.”

“While  _ blindfolded _ .  Is that something Judy taught you?”

“Not as such,” he dismissed with an easy smile, letting his hips sway in a strut on his way to open the other door and check in on a still knocked-out Dent, “Once I got him in range and making mouth-noises, I pointed  _ my _ self in a north-ish direction to headbutt him with enough accuracy for government work.”

“‘Facing north-ish’,  _ indeed… _ ”

Nick paused to arch both eyebrows over his shoulder to study her.  “It’s no great feat, for a fox.”

Despite her best efforts, Esther harrumphed.

“You  _ don’t _ see north?” he disbelieved, closing the door of the storage room.

“Seems that Pa and I are the only foxes that  _ can’t… _ ” she grumbled, “I mean… not nearly as well as Giddy can, and Ma hardly even needs to look for it, but it always made me green with envy how they or my other fox friends could just…  _ point _ where north was or did the littlest corrections when  _ I _ tried.”

He pivoted, arms shrugging but tail embracing her legs as a gesture of indirect, if patronizing, consolation, “Don’t feel  _ too _ bad, Finnick can’t see north very well, either, so I always figured it was a red fox kind of thing.  As for Judy, she doesn’t know about it because I know she’ll want to hone it through what  _ she _ calls ‘training for personal betterment’ but what  _ I _ call ‘cruel and unusual punishment for kicks’.”

A low, contemplative hum passed between them, and then Nick’s fur spiked on his nape as that devilishly sly grin of hers once more spanned from ear-to-ear, but when his tail attempted a retreat hers caught it swifter still.  “Naughty naughty, Blue, keeping secrets again,” she cooed, tracing the length of his tail with a sweep of hers, “but rest assured, I’ll keep this little tidbit  _ safe _ and  _ sound _ ,” and tapped a single finger under his chin.

“Madam,” frowned a furrowed fox amidst mild gesticulations, “I did not tell you that so  _ you _ could  _ blackmail  _ me, I told you that so  _ I  _ could  _ gloat _ .”

Both foxes remembered their current location and situation by jumping nearly their height into the air at a harsh knock echoing through the house.  They froze and huddled, backs against the wall, Esther tucking in behind Nick’s arm as their ears spun to pinpoint the sound, and their eyes a quick escape.  “Hey Tad, are you in there?” called a voice from beyond the storefront, staying their respective breaths at the consideration that, maybe, more were involved in that flock of ne’er-do-wells than previously assumed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interesting thing I found out about foxes (red foxes, mostly) is that they use the Earth's magnetic field to aid in their hunting. Check out "fox" and "mousing" to see some videos of the clever devils swan-diving halfway into the snow to catch a meal. I'm borrowing and expanding that idea in this story to include almost all foxes into a preternatural ability (note: this is not supernatural, more like... unexplained science); most animals have a sense of the magnetic field (migration patterns, etc.) but not all of them have honed it over the generations into the bioelectric sense that modern-day foxes have.
> 
> And now to address the elephant in the room: the societal perception of homosexuality in Zootopia does not reflect what it is/was in our human real world, rather, the big divide in relations is interspecies, and to be exact, between predator and prey (thus: predophiles). My reasoning for this is that most species have an average child-to-family ratio of about 4:1, nearly double of us humans, and this varies drastically with the shift in the physical size of species (most larger mammal families only have one child, while the average small species can have upwards to eight or twelve); it's worth noting that gestation periods still closely reflect that of humans (variance in weeks rather than months). This in mind, the population of a species can remain steady even if some of its members are in homosexual relationships; this is the phenomenon known as the "Cool Gay Uncle/Aunt", wherein a mother and father can remain productive while their childless siblings aid in the raising thereof. In effect, and as an example, prey parents would be more accepting of their daughter's prey girlfriend than of a predator boyfriend. It is also worth noting that the discrepancy between species overshadows a difference in class or status (something of a moot point in some early cultures since species was often an indicator of class). That said, Zootopia is one of the more welcoming cities in the world, in this regard, not only in intimate relationships but business partnerships, as well.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many giraffes does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
> Just the one, but they have to bend over to reach the ceiling lamp.
> 
> How many wolves does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
> Two to three, at least; the first screws it in and the others howl with them about it.
> 
> How many wildebeests does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
> However many are in a room at any given time.
> 
> How many moles does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
> Hard to say, they would never notice it went out.
> 
> How many lions does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
> None, their three lionesses would probably get the job done, instead.
> 
> How many bunnies does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
> Too many.
> 
> How many raccoons does it take to screw in a lightbulb?  
> Probably the one- and they just ran off with the box of bulbs...

Nick nodded Esther towards the end of the hallway opposite the stairs, for there he spotted another door and judging by the adjacent broom showing clear signs of dirt staining its bristles, lead outside.  Esther nodded in response and closely followed as they skulked towards the conclusion of their autonomous rescue. The voice spoke again to stay their footfall, “It’s Deputy Catmull; we got a call about suspicious activity, and I’m here to check it out.  Are you home?”

“Gabe!” Esther desperately whispered, eyes brighter as she gripped Nick’s arm, “Deputy Gabe Catmull, his younger brother Bobby is a friend of Judy’s from Woodlands.”

“Do you trust him?” Nick asked in an equal, stonier whisper, “This isn’t exactly the best context to assume good intentions from anyone,  _ especially _ deputies that neither of us called for.”

“We can trust him, Blue; his family’s only a few farms down from ours, really nice folk, even though his mom is something of a snoop.  And he was probably called by a neighbor, I mean come on, it’s not like  _ all  _ of Bunnyburrow is in on this thing, right?”

His eyes locked directly onto hers, even turning around to do so, and enunciated each word, “Do  _ you _ trust  _ him _ ?”

Esther didn’t answer immediately, gaze not daring to avert until her face set resolutely, “I trust him enough, yes.”

“Works for me,” Nick immediately answered, and guided her towards the door leading to the storefront as Deputy Catmull knocked for a second time.  They kept a low profile gliding along the floor, only he reaching up to unlock their passage behind the counter of  Tad’s Antiquities & Pawn Shop, and then peeking out at the midday silhouette of a tall cat in a broad-brimmed hat on the other side of the shade-drawn door.  Nick and Esther scampered along, ignoring the tidy shelves and clean glass cases housing the more attractive wares of a pawn shop owner, some with a price tag and others for display only.  Once more, Nick held out his arm to the vixen behind him, but to pause her so he could study the shadow’s body language.

“So he’s safe, then?” she asked, eyebrow and ear quirking to Nick’s direction.

“I trust your trust in him, Cherries,” Nick assured and reached to turn the deadbolt of the door.

“ _ Finally _ .  What kept you?” Deputy Catmull inquired, shadowy ear-shapes flicking to attention and leaning over to peek in through the offered crack.  He did not yet bother to remove his sunglasses but instead tilted the brim of his hat as he considered Nick with a suspicious angle of his brow.  “Sir,” he greeted, the casual manner of speech from only a sentence prior no longer present, as evidenced by the squaring of his shoulders and the actions of an arm still blocked from view by the door, “are you the ‘suspicious activity’ I was called about?”

“Deputy Catmull,” Nick said quietly, succinctly, and professionally, putting on his best face to command the exchange, “I’m Officer Nick Wilde of the ZPD, and it’s a good thing you’re here,” he explained with an urgent ushering.

The puma did not move, save to lean in and loom his admittedly intimidating physique, perhaps even roll a faint rumble about in his throat while his eyes narrowed behind the shades, “If  _ you’re _ Nick Wilde, then  _ I’m- _ ”

“For crying out loud, Gabe, get in here!” Esther insisted, grabbing the door in one paw to open it far enough that she could yank the deputy’s shirt collar from over Nick’s shoulder.  Both males scrambled to keep their footing as the larger tripped over the smaller, the female stepping out of the way to close (and lock) the door. Gabe finished his impromptu entry by falling atop Nick and losing his eyewear.  “We don’t have time for you two to play  _ alphas _ ,” she scolded.

“You just suck the fun out of everything…” came a wheeze from under the uniformed chest.

“… _ Very  _ surprised.  Esther?” Gabe wondered, propping himself up off the ground (and the fox) to squint in her general direction, and then clapping to grab what was now evidently his spectacles with transition lenses relinquishing their outdoor opacity.  He stood and brushed himself off, adjusting his glasses and fixing his hat, “What’re  _ you _ doing here?”

“Long story short, Judy, Nick, and I were kidnapped last night -- no, early this morning, before dawn -- and brought here.”

“‘Nick’… so he  _ is _ Officer Wilde?” the cougar asked and knelt down to help the squashed city cop to his feet, even brushing him off some, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know you were in town; figured you for some hooligan sneaking about, trying to use your good name as a cover.”

_ Heavy sort of guy…  _ “Think nothing of it,” Nick coughed, managing to get his feet under him again, “I guess there’s something to be said for the taste of celebrity, ‘eh?”

“And what’s this about getting kidnapped?”

The foxes exchanged a wary glance.  To bring up the toxic whipped cream, even if the report _was_ filed in the sheriff’s office, could cause far more trouble than it solved if Deputy Catmull decided to take it upon himself to intervene; a risky endeavor with Gideon still in the Gravedigger’s crosshairs.   _But we have plenty of incriminating evidence to a very real and obvious crime, don’t we,_ Nick decided, keeping his professionalism balanced with a reasonable concern for their well-being.  “It’s hard to say, exactly,” he said with a quick adjust of his tie and glimpse to Esther, who deferred to his lead with a “nodding” double flick of the ears and glancing up to Gabe while her snout remained down.  “When I came to, I managed to escape my restraints and subdue Tad Wooler. Lucky for me, the altercation didn’t alert his accomplice, on whom I managed to sneak up behind and get the drop on with Esther’s help.” He then looked significantly to the vixen.

“I think Tad wanted to…” she gripped both her arms and gnawed her bottom lip, “Nothing happened, not  _ yet _ , but I hate to think what  _ would _ have if Nick hadn’t found me when he did.  They’re in the storage rooms where we were being held.”

Catmull’s brow furrowed and jaw set, a deep inhale puffing out his chest as his thumbs hooked his utility belt in a forced calm.  It seemed to Nick that a part of the puma, as much as he tried to deny it, suspected such a thing was not improbable. After a moment’s thought, he nodded and glanced to the door behind the counter, “Alright, let’s have a look-see,” and shifted a paw to his stun-gun with a click of its holding strap on his way to the back.  Quietly, he checked on each ram as Nick did before him, Dent first, and gave a sidelong glance at the visible swelling on either side of his face with the baseball bat lying nearby.

“Self-defense,” assured Nick.

“Necessary force,” added Esther.

“I’ll bet,” said Gabe soberly, kneeling beside the horned ungulate and snapping his fingers, but he did not so much as stir the unfriendly sort from his concussed state, “You really did a number on him, didn’t you.  Who is he?”

“‘Dent Wooler’, to the best of my knowledge, already in the city’s system as a drug-dealer and smuggler.  Who’d’ve thought he’d follow me all the way out here?”

“What’s his relation to Tad?”

“Cousin, so far as we know,” Nick continued, and then tossed a thumb over his shoulder, “Tad’s in the other storage room.  Bring your cuffs.”

The light flicked on and the pile of wool from before finally stirred.  “Dang it, Tad,” Gabe muttered under his breath, his shoulders heavy as he looked at the bound-and-gagged ram blinking at the overhead light, blood dried on his bruised nostrils, “You said you stopped all that after gettin’ caught peeping the  _ first _ time.”

The ram grunted in his delirium, and eyes shot open when he recognized the bespectacled deputy, and writhed about as he glanced upside-down from a disappointed Gabe, to an observant Nick, to a repulsed Esther standing a bit behind said Nick.

“Swore on the horns of your grandpappy, rest his soul; ‘Never again’, you said,” the puma rebuked and sighed heavier than before as he rubbed under his hat and pulled out the handcuffs, “I held you to it, Tad, we all did, but  _ kidnapping _ ?  Never in a hundred years did I think you’d stoop so low…”

Tad bleated and groaned through his gag as the cuffs secured around his wrists, and when Gabe freed up his mouth, the ram was eager to snitch.  “The Gravedigger!” he immediately yelled, “It was the Gravedigger,  _ he _ made me do it, him and Dent!   _ I _ didn’t want to, but they… they  _ forced _ me to!  You gotta  _ believe _ me, Gabe, you know I’m not that ram anymore!”

“Snakes alive!” Catmull decried, standing and adjusting his hat with a different kind of disappointment, “I can’t…  Really, the  _ Gravedigger _ ?  Next, you’ll tell me King Richard’s come back to dance us a jig.”

“All the same,” Nick prompted with an attention-grabbing tap of his knuckles on the puma’s arm, “This seems like more than a two-mammal operation since we’ve not seen Judy yet.  Now, I haven’t  _ heard _ anyone else in the house, but I saw a staircase leading up-”

“N-Nothing’s up there!”

“‘Nothing’,  _ huh _ ?” Gabe couldn’t help but wonder, what with the sheep’s interruption, and repositioned his glasses, “I’ll go take a look.  Officer Wilde, can I trust you to keep an eye on Ms. Grey and…  _ this _ guy?” he asked and removed the pepper spray from his belt to offer it to his fellow law enforcement.

“‘To protect and serve’,” Nick quipped, deftly handling the small can (quite glad that it wasn’t “fox repellent” or any other predator-specific brand of repellent that was really just  _ marginally _ different intensities of pepper spray), and looked deliberately at the prone sheep not bothering to get up or roll over, but shrinking as small as he could.  After the deputy left, ascended the steps, and entered the unlocked door with hardly a hindrance, Nick pulled out the bobby pin from his shirt pocket at a suddenly crestfallen sheep.  “Yeah, we know what’s up there,” he said simply, trying his best not to smirk (and failing) as he approached to a safe spraying distance, keeping the can in plain view, “So, you met the Gravedigger, did you?”

The oval pupils shrunk but eyes widened, neck still craned to keep Nick in his field of vision.  His shallow breath elongated while retaining telltale nervousness. And then after a calculating silence, he was caught between a sneer and a smirk, “Oh yeah, and he  _ hates _ you,” Tad reported, drawing out the syllable of “hate” with every bit of emphasis he could while pointing a single, knuckled finger at the tod.

_ He got desperate quick, _ Nick noticed and exchanged a glance with Esther, a readily recognizable and agreeable facial expression that every fox should know: Let me do the talking.  “I never met the guy, which for me is saying something,” he then replied and spun the pepper spray between his nimble fingers, “Does he have something against my being in Captain Kela’s pack, or…?”

Tad grunted and shook his head, “ _ Nuh-uh _ , ya’ shifty fox, you ain’t getting  _ anything _ from me… except what  _ I _ really think about you,” he sneered his crooked-tooth sneer, and then leered at Esther, “And  _ you, _ too.  I have a special folder in my room  _ all _ for  _ you _ .”

Esther’s fur stood on end, and she opened her mouth to respond but stopped when Nick held up a ceasing paw and gave her another glance.  She calmed, and let him do his work.

“Such a wasted day…” Tad mocked his lament, “If  _ I _ was keeping an eye on you-”

“Yes, your cousin Dent was  _ very _ liberal with that information,” Nick interrupted, but as if it were  _ so _ obvious that pointing it out was a waste of his time, “Honestly; the guy wouldn’t shut up about this whole scam.  As it is, he already let slip the Gravedigger’s  _ real _ name,” he grinned.

The ram bit back a bleat, his eyes darted, but then he grimaced, “Yeah  _ right _ , we didn’t even  _ get _ his name.  D’you think I’m stupid enough to tell a deputy that the ‘Gravedigger made me do it’ if I knew his real name?  And Dent’s as thick-skulled as they come; I bet  _ he  _ doesn’t even know his name, either.”  Nick’s smirk confused him until he realized that he said far more than he intended to, but after a venomous glare, he gave a smirk of his own with his trump card.  “D’you think your brother is such a  _ saint _ ?” he suddenly spat out at Esther, “Bet you didn’t know about his little  _ call girl _ , did you?”

The vixen frowned a stony frown, and then looked to Nick for his cue… so he took a half-step to the side with a permitting gesture.  Both paws braced her hips and weight shifted to one leg as she regarded the attempted barb with similar boredom that her time, too, was wasted by anything Tad had to reveal on the subject.  “A ‘call girl’, you say?”

“A young raccoon.  She came by a few months ago, late at night, right up to his door, went in, and I  _ never _ saw her leave.  And here’s the best part,” Tad swiftly continued, once more pointing his knuckled fingers, “She can’t have been much more than  _ fifteen _ .”

Nick arched as discreet as a severe brow could be at his cousin’s half-sister, but Esther leaned forward with her paws on her knees in her most condescending stance, speaking slowly and deliberately, “She was actually a run-away from the city, Mr. Wooler, wanted to drop out of school and leave everything behind after some classmates thought it’d be a swell idea to ‘punish’ her for being a predator.  She was seventeen, by the way, and it was during the Pred-Scare, so quite a bit more than a ‘few months’. As for the night in question, Gideon called her father, fed her, and kept an eye on her until he drove in from the city to pick her up. I hear she’s recovering from her trauma and went on to graduate high school without any further hiccups.

“You see, my ‘saint’ of a brother came to  _ me _ for any legal advice on how to deal with such a unique situation,” she cooed, and stood upright again, paws once more on her hips, “Any  _ other _ unlawful surveillance you want to confess to, Mr. Wooler?”

Nick would have applauded (or whistled) if there weren’t a criminal they were plying for information while the deputy was out of the room.  Instead, his paws folded behind his back and he widened his eyes in an enlightened, “Oh… I  _ see _ .”

It garnered the vixen’s attention and his ears swiveled back with a smug grin, so she touched her mouth with the tips of some choice fingers, “ _ Oh! _  Oh my…”

“Mm _ hmm _ ,” Nick agreed.  A favorite tactic of his (which took some time to teach Judy the finer masteries of) was the subtle art of implication of a shared secret, which in their current circumstances, amounted to Nick figuring something out that Esther didn’t yet know, but all Esther needed to do to make Tad think she  _ did _ know was follow Nick’s cues to fill in the gaps, thus allowing the ram to squirm in the belief that they could -- as he always feared -- read him like an open book.  “You know, I couldn’t quite figure out  _ why _ Tad had it out for Gideon until now, convincing him to host the pie-eating contest as he did,” he said to Esther, “ _ I _ thought it started with the bakery opening up at the end of the street, right?”

“But why would prey of Mr. Wooler’s proclivities  _ not _ want a predator in the neighborhood?” she challenged conversationally.

Nick tapped his chin once while holding his elbow, “So then I thought to myself, ‘Well, self, it must  _ certainly  _ stem from when he spotted a fox in a bunny’s house’, since Tad was the one that picked up the boulders Judy and Bo dug out of the ground; he’d have the chance to spot Gideon helping out Bonnie in her kitchen and generally making nice with the rest of the Hopps family, right?”

“Mr. Wooler certainly  _ likes _ predators as much as he  _ hates _ them,  _ but _ …” she once more argued, “The Hoppses’ choice of house guest doesn’t really affect a certain disgruntled ram  _ directly, _ now does it?”

“Indeed it does not, and such a deep-seated enmity could  _ only _ be something  _ direct _ ,” he reasoned, “but a nice-maker like Gideon would  _ never  _ dare do  _ anything  _ that would question the trust Stu and Bonnie Hopps invested in him.   _ So _ , it begs the question as to what could he  _ possibly _ do by being a neighborly fox that earned him such hatred?”

Both foxes leaned over and smugly smirked at the prone ram while respectively bracing their knees (his apart and hers together).  Tad sealed his lips, though, glancing between the two of them and wishing (oh,  _ so  _ wantonly) that the floor would be generous enough to swallow him whole.

“He’s closed up tighter than a clam with stage fright,” Esther pointed out.

“Maybe he’ll loosen when the urge arises to correct me; I know that usually gets others talking,” Nick cooed, “That sweet little raccoon girl slipped right through your knuckled fingers, didn’t she, Tad?”

Tad said nothing, not even a muffled bleat.

“You probably didn’t know at the time that she was offered up to you on a silver platter,” the fox implied, frowning, “A young, lost predator, hundreds of miles from anyone who knew her, wandering around in the middle of the night when everyone else on the street was fast asleep… except for  _ you _ , since the subjects of your ‘bird watching’ are most active then, and of course, the only fox outside of Preds’ Corner at the time would likely be awake, too.  Why, I wonder if you directed her to Gideon’s bakery yourself, thinking she was someone local but only later figuring out her ‘unique situation’.”

Tad heaved in a cold sweat, but then his face burned hot as his hooves curled into fists.  “…She  _ never  _ even came to my door,” he whined through clenched teeth, “We saw each other through a window and I  _ knew  _ she wasn’t from Preds’ Corner… I would have recognized her if she were… but then she  _ took off  _ at a sprint.  I was so sure I imagined her, at first…” he admitted, “but I knew there was only one other house on the street she’d go to, and that if I followed the tree line I could get to it at the same time she did, even with her head start…”  His eyes then drifted off, staring into the ceiling and the sky beyond, “It could have been  _ perfect _ … but that shifty fox took her from me…”

“Yes, I’m  _ quite _ sure a predator being the prey and vice versa was  _ too  _ fine an irony to pass up,” Nick scoffed, “I’ll need to congratulate Gideon on the life he saved the next time I see him,” and then stood upright again, to which Esther followed suit.  Their ears flicked and took an appropriate step back, the can of pepper spray once more held at the ready as though to keep the ram at bay when heavy,  _ heavy _ footsteps stomped down the stairs with as much control as Gabe could manage.   _ Hmm… I don’t think Deputy Catmull is the type to fly off the handle… I hope not, anyway, I’d rather not defend this waste of wool against someone who I’m sure likes me, but if I have to… _

The door opened again to drop the room’s temperature by several degrees, the cougar ducking his hatted head to step inside (and only then did Nick realize how tall he really was when standing upright) and approach Tad with but a few strides.  His tail whisked in obvious agitation as he squatted near the sheep’s head. “That’s quite a collection you got up there, Tad,” he said darkly, “a lot of familiar faces, best I can figure. Pretty sure I saw m’self in there somewhere, I know I saw my mom, and my brother Bobby…  And Mrs. Kumamori, our next door neighbor, with her daughter, Tululu…”

“C’mon,  _ Gabe _ …” the sheep whimpered.

“Don’t ‘Gabe’ me!” he almost yelled as the claws unsheathed from his fingertips, but then retracted again.

Nick spotted that desperate glint in Tad’s eye and glanced between the two of them as his fingers curled carefully around the pepper spray.   _ Keep your cool, Gabe, don’t do this… _ he quietly begged, and by Esther’s grip around his arm, assumed she shared his worry.

“But we’ve been friends for… for  _ years _ ,” Tad pleaded and then proceeded to ramble, each word digging him a bit deeper under Catmull’s guillotine glare, “I mean…your brother Bobby; he’s a  _ naturalist _ , the way he walks around wearing only that armband for his phone.  He’s practically  _ asking _ for it, right?  It’s not like he  _ can _ ask, being mute, so he needs to say it  _ somehow _ …”

The cougar’s throaty growl was almost audible over his grinding fangs, and the force with which he scrunched his face threatened to break the frame and lenses of his glasses.

“And Tululu-”

“She’s  _ twelve! _ ” Gabe bellowed.

“ _ Gabe _ , hey, buddy,” Nick interjected in a fluid approach.  He recognized the stance of an angry cat -- he’ll not soon forget when a savage Manchas chased him and Judy through the Rainforest District -- and while the cougar was nowhere near that deep end, he looked about ready to dive in, or whatever amounted to it from a still civilized mammal.  The best Nick could figure, the best scholars and scientists concluded from the severe lack of historical evidence that mammals couldn’t just  _ devolve _ because they wanted to or were pushed to the edge by stress.  It wasn’t until the Pred-Scare that it was determined what kind of outside physiological force was  _ required _ to break through to bloodlust; in that specific case, the concentrated essence a little-known flower growing out in the country used to keep bugs off the produce.   _ All the same, there are plenty of ways Gabe can hurt our suspect without going prehistoric _ , “Let’s take a breath and clear our heads, okay?  Now, I  _ know _ what a scumbucket this guy is, and I wouldn’t doubt there are plenty of staircases he could fall down; after all, he  _ did _ hit me with a baseball bat when I was tied up.   _ But _ …” he stressed, “But we are officers of the law, and we don’t  _ do _ that, right?”

Deputy Catmull kept his glare locked on Tad, seemingly undecided whether it was worth adhering to-

“Yeah, listen to the shift-” Tad begged and then screamed, rolling about as the sting of pepper spray filled his eyes, nose, and mouth from a casually pointed can in the fox’s paw.

“ _ Oops _ , butterfingers,” Nick feigned, “I think the trigger on this is a bit sensitive.”

“What I could have done to you when I had the chance-!” the ram declared through a red, watery scowl, but then screamed again and curled up after the second spray.

“ _ Darn it _ , I can be a real klutz sometimes,” Nick huff in mock worry, holding the defensive aerosol can bottom-first towards the marginally cooler cougar, “You should probably take this away from me before I spray myself on accident.”

Deputy Catmull grunted, his bristling fur smoothed enough that he could stand and receive the pepper spray to tuck into its belt holster.  “Sheriff Longmare is on the way,” he finally, soberly said.

“Rachel is?” Esther couldn’t help herself from saying.

“Seems someone called in your kidnapping while I was out on patrol but she didn’t want it getting out at the risk of causing a panic,” he extrapolated and scratched his cheek when he descended from the adrenaline high of broiling ire.

“A ‘ _ panic _ ’?” Esther challenged and then looked to Nick and his sweeping tail to exchange  _ very _ curious expressions, “You don’t suppose…?”

“I do indeed,” he replied and rubbed his chin in thought, “I mean, I  _ heard  _ Dent mention a ‘Digger Graves’, but it couldn’t be…?”

“Yeah,” Gabe admitted, somewhat sheepishly, “the Gravedigger’s definitely involved.”

“I  _ told _ you!” Tad bragged through pepper-spray-induced sniffs, “I told you, I told you!  I. Told. You! The Gravedigger made me do it!”

“Did the Gravedigger make you snap all those pictures pinned to the walls of your room?” the puma demanded and when the ram didn’t answer, he uncurled his lip and divided his attention between the foxes while lifting the criminal to his feet.  “Now, I might’ve missed something she said over the wire… I was a bit distracted… but you two need to come down to the station for a full statement. As for  _ you _ …” he said, keeping his tone professional (if severe) and walked Tad out of the room, Nick and Esther not  _ too _ close behind.

“How did Rachel find out about the Gravedigger before coming here?” she discreetly asked of Nick.

“I don’t know,” he discreetly admitted to Esther.

“Could Giddy…?”

“I’m going to assume that Gideon  _ isn’t _ as up on the ZPD’s ‘Most Wanted’ list as either us or the sheriff’s office is, and that ‘Graves’  _ won’t  _ go bragging about being the most notorious sniper in modern history… verbally, anyway.  So… ‘no’, I don’t suppose Gideon called the sheriff’s office,” Nick decided, “I doubt he even knows who took us, only that he needs to follow orders or we get hurt.”  He then flinched and frowned, “The poisoned whipped cream! Cherries, do you know when the contest is?”

As they followed Deputy Catmull into the storefront, she glanced up at an antique grandfather clock, wistfully ticking away each second, “If that’s correct, then it’s about… two-and-a-half hours from now, three tops?”  And then watched as a worried Nick paced out of immediate sight from the door, quite the different gait than she was used to seeing. “Blue?”

“Maybe it’s not important  _ why _ she knows,” he said under his breath, peeking around a shelf to spare furtive glances at a crowd of Bunnyburrow residents accumulating outside, Deputy Catmull ushering a Tad Wooler frantically trying to hide his face from the whispering onlookers.  “I need to get to the contest,” Nick declared, and drummed his claw tips together.

“Right  _ now _ ?  What about the Gravedigger, you said he’ll be watching everything like a hawk?”

“He’s stuck in Preds’ Corner, but it’s not  _ his _ eyes I’m worried about,” Nick said, “You remember that Judy and I explained how Grav might have a spy network set up all over Bunnyburrow, rabbits with keen ears that can listen in on conversations and report back to him?  It’s how he knew about our movements yesterday and Saturday. I won’t assume they’re in every nook-and-cranny but I won’t assume they’ve cleared out, either. Dumb fox that I was, I told Lanny Wild to bring the Night Howler antidote as a contingency plan -- 2AM texts rarely work out well for me -- I should’ve known better than to call in the Lookers  _ and _ a young adult lion in a covert operation.  It’ll be like pouring vinegar on baking soda.  It’ll grab their attention-” and froze as the light of revelation gleamed in his eyes like a flashbang.

Esther leaned in and waved her paw in front of his face, “Ground Control to Blue, you in there?”

He blinked, and then covered his face in both paws with a pained groan.

“Hey,” Gabe said, having just appeared while the foxes’ attentions were on each other and elsewhere other than their current predicament, “You doing okay, Nick?”

“Hmm?  Yeah, I’m okay,” he lied, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Been a rough weekend.”

“I hear that,” the cougar agreed, “Sheriff’ll be here in a few minutes, and she’ll want to talk with the both of you.  By the way, Tad mentioned something about ‘not stealing the laptop’, also blaming that on Dent. Does that ring a bell to either of you?”

“Oh!” she gasped, “I wonder if that’s  _ my  _ laptop…  Why would they take it, though?”

“I guess we’ll add ‘theft’ to the growing list,” he dryly chuckled, and then was somber once more, “You sure you’ll be okay?”

“We’ll manage, Gabe, thank you” Esther assured as she rubbed Nick’s shoulder, “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“No no, I’m just going to get Dent in the cruiser, and then gather up all the evidence in Tad’s bedroom,” he grunted, and flicked an ear at the gathering crowd outside, “Boy, this is gonna hit the papers hard,” the puma observed and then walked into the back hallway once more.

Nick dragged both palms down his cheeks to stretch them and his eyelids, “And that’s  _ exactly _ what Graves wanted…” he groaned.  “ _ He’s _ the one that called the deputy so that Tad would get caught and causing such a  _ huge _ ruckus, it’d be child’s play to slip away unnoticed…”

“This is all a cover, then?” Esther disbelieved.

“And it worked  _ beautifully _ .  Magnus has or  _ had _ leverage on the Gravedigger -- maybe he used it up by now, I don’t know -- but enough to get him to kidnap someone at a moment’s notice.  That doesn’t teleport him in from the city, though, which means he was  _ already in _ Bunnyburrow as recent as  _ last night _ .  I’d bet my tail that there’ll be a car crash or barn fire  _ somewhere _ in the newspapers in the next few days, and  _ that _ was the Gravedigger’s target, the one he must’ve been setting up for  _ weeks _ to make it look like an unfortunate accident; no one would ever suspect it until he was  _ hundreds _ of miles away.  But then  _ this _ happens.  What’s a shadow to do?  Divert the sheriff and her deputies to something even  _ worse _ , of course.”

“Aslan’s mane…” she dreaded, “The worst Bunnyburrow sees is tractors taken out for joyrides, collapsed buildings, or land ownership disputes; well, not too much the third one anymore, but all the same, to find out that someone like Tad Wooler’s been operating for… for  _ decades _ ?  It could very well eclipse the Reunion!”

Nick mulled it over.  “No… it’ll be kept quiet until  _ after _ ward,” he speculated, “Those bunnies that run the TBR wouldn’t let the kidnapping of Memphis King’s son stop it twenty years ago, they certainly won’t let  _ this _ dampen their spirits,” and perhaps let a bit more disgust slip out than he intended.  He kept his head low as a groggy, barely conscious Dent was ushered past by Deputy Catmull, and when he received a nod from Esther, Nick continued.  “I need to get to the TBR and  _ fast _ , but I left my jetpack in my other pants,” he fretted, mind racing through hopeless scenarios while gazing out the shop as a second cruiser pulled up, and knew if he was going to do anything, it had to be  _ soon _ .

“Why not just  _ tell _ Rachel what’s happening?” Esther whispered, keeping an eye on the mare as she stepped out of the cruiser to get caught up by Gabe while he secured the rams, “At this point, she probably knows more about this than we do.”

“Cherries,” Nick interjected, “there are things going on she doesn’t know about, things  _ I’ve _ set into motion, and after dealing with Tad, she won’t get to the contest in time to stop them, nor will she know how to fix them if she did.  I’m… I’m afraid I’ve mucked up a good deal of this, and Gideon or anyone else near that tent will suffer because of it. It’s up to me to make this right.”

She was quiet, but not for long, “You sounded like Judy just then.  Alright, then let’s do this together,” Esther offered in a smiled.

The thought rolled about in Nick’s head, and it only seemed to further muck everything up.   _ Way to go, Nicky, you really stepped in it this time _ , he chastised.  He could escape; there wasn’t any doubt in his mind about that, but  _ What about Judy?  What about Gideon?  What about Esther? What about Lanny?  And you know what, Bo’s probably there, too, so what about Bo?  And all those bunnies in the pie-eating contest that got dragged into this?  That’s quite a list of names to be responsible for. _  It was a roil of doubts inside him, but what tightened around his lungs and heart the worst of all was the numerous ways he could save his own pelt, and how vehemently he denied every course of action that let even one of those names fall away when he  _ knew _ he could save them, too.  As he watched the brightness outside, it felt like time slowed to an agonizing crawl, like a cresting wave tower overhead.

The fox took in every detail he could, scouring for  _ something _ he could use,  _ someone  _ he knew or could convince to drive him to the TBR, no questions asked.  But he wasn’t in the city with his wealth of back-alley contacts and network of information.  He didn’t even have his  _ phone _ .  He was out in the country and the breadth of his connections couldn’t span his ear-tips.

It was then that another light of revelation flashed across his eyes like a bolt of electricity.  He saw past the store window, the cruisers, the crowd, across the street and through the midday sun, down a dim alleyway to the street just beyond…  _ Gideon!  Why is he driving by…  Of course, he must be getting the clean whipped cream from his bakery!  He doesn’t seem to have noticed anything -- except the cruisers, maybe? They tend to stand out -- or else he’d be stopping for longer…  Now I just need to get to his bakery in time to hide in the back of his van… Well, if Tad with his stubby legs can outrun a sprinting raccoon half his age, then I can get there without too much trouble _ .  And then the fox grinned a triumphantly sly grin.

“Actually,” he suavely said, a literal and figurative one-hundred-eighty-degree pivot from his fretting only a second prior to addressing Esther, “I need you  _ here _ to cover for me while I make a mad dash to catch Gideon at his bakery-”

“ _ What? _ ” she had to bite back a yell, the unmistakable agitation churning in her voice, “How do you even know he’s  _ there _ right now, and if he  _ were _ , do you think I’m just going to stand by and let you run off without me?”

“All I’m doing is some crazy heroics, Cherries,  _ you _ have the most important, gravitational responsibility of ensuring that laptop gets to Sheriff Longmare and present our case as only  _ you _ can; it has everything we did on it from last night, which might be why it was swiped,” he explained, incapable of suppressing his own grin.  “Now, I need to move quickly-” and strode to the back of the shop, but his wrist was snagged in her iron grip.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ leave me, Nicholas Wilde-!” she began but caught her breath when he tilted her chin to touch their lips in a single kiss.  Stunned, Esther’s ears flared like scarlet beacons in their full-frontal position, and her grasp on his wrist weakened only to tighten with a vengeance as she made to scowl, ears pinning against her skull (though her eyes did  _ not  _ flash silver, and Nick was watching to be sure).  “And just  _ what _ is that suppose to-!” Esther began again, but he deftly reversed her grip and pulled the vixen into another kiss, the other paw brushing a thumb to her cheek to caress his fingertips along her neck, right behind the ear.  When he lifted away she was quite a bit more delirious than the first time, but managed to utter, “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that last part…?”

An arm hooked her waist, the other her shoulders and so Nick dipped Esther for a longer kiss to curl the one set of sparkly, purple toes raised in the air.  Standing upright, the fox took the vixen by the paw and twirled her about for a one-step waltz, before reeling her in so his chest braced her back, both pairs of arms folded about her abdomen and bosom, and his tail wrapped around her thighs.  “Wait for me,” Nick whispered, nose grazing the fluff nearest her ear to then slide their cheeks flush.

“Okay,” she whispered back.  With another nimble spin, he guided her airy motions into an antique chair that was labeled as “SOLD”, in which she patiently sat to gather both thoughts and breath after he tucked a single bang behind her ear…

* * *

Fox courtships are nothing if not covert mind games and nonchalant teasing to get the  _ other _ fox to admit attraction first, a very special manner of bantering reserved for the determination of lifelong devotion.  They are often noted by the frequency in which some of the fox’s associates fail to realize that they were courting at all, and the general perception that they “can’t stand each other” -- for Nick and Esther, their courtship began  _ not _ that weekend, but when they first crossed gazes in the ZPD precinct months prior.  Courtship, additionally, can manifest in the form of pranks, challenges, misleading flirtation (whether with each other or an outside party), and in the current example, a dance of avoidance as though circling a maypole (one such instance has Nick diving into a broom closet at Judy’s suggestion when she heard Esther approaching).  Though vehemently denied, close friends of foxes -- that are not foxes themselves -- consider these courtships as opportunities to build up as much of a “score” against one another, before ultimately dropping their mutual counts when they are exchanged along with their vows in mateship (should the courtship prove successful).

Esther always wondered what or who  _ hers _ would result in.  She’d wished for “true love” on those crossed stars as a kit, after all, which some might deem as “girlish romanticism”, but it was her heart’s truest wish all the same.  Her parents, along with other mated foxes, would say that a fox’s courtship is as a defining moment in their life as any coming-of-age, and the  _ best _ manifest anecdotes worth bragging about, whether realized in the midst of life-threatening circumstances (more frequent in olden times than the safer, modern society) or revealed in such an exquisitely sly or subtle manner that it makes at least one mammal who witnesses it exclaim, “I should have known!”.  An example of the latter involves Ruth Savage and Goliath Grey: their courtship began during his rebuilding of a dilapidated shack on the furthest edge of town to become his new house while Ruth wet-nursed an infant Esther, and concluded when the mail carrier brought a letter incorrectly addressed to a “Mrs. Ruth Grey” over a year later,  _ well  _ after the aforementioned kit weaned; and they’ve been happily mated ever since.

She sought a boyfriend in her teenage years (what Gideon dubbed “The Summer of Suitors”, an event Esther looks back on differently than when she experienced it firsthand) but was beset with an overprotective father who could overhand most candidates across a field and a  _ very _ traditional mother with strong opinions about what constituted a “proper vixen”.  Additionally, she harbored a point of view which close friends (Judy included) labeled as “high standards” or “picky”, so Esther devoted herself instead to school and then to work, bouncing from one interest to the next (either romantic or hobby) like a stone skipped across a pond’s surface.  Before she knew it, years had passed to produce a successful career as a grown vixen but left that star-crossed wish of a kit unfulfilled. When the days flowed from an empty, unmade bed, to an immaculately tidy office desk, to the “hobby of the month”, to the take-out-container-filled trash can of her apartment, and returned to a still empty, unmade bed, Esther resigned herself to the love of her friends, family, and pet parakeet…  Until she caught sight of Nick Wilde in his blues and admitted to Judy once and  _ only _ once, “I never knew I needed a fox in uniform”.

After she opened her eyes and realized Nick escaped to his derring-do, Esther began to ponder with a rhythmic clapping on her knees,  _ Now then, what to tell Rachel… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference that Deputy Gabe Catmull makes to King Richard (King Richard Lionheart, from "Robin Hood") is one such severe incredulity that it could only be topped by a legendary, historical character rising from the grave to perform a silly dance. In this story (which we'll learn more about as the chapters progress), King Richard is practically a mythical hero, analogous to our King Arthur (even though there is a King Arthur in the Zootopian mythos; he is a squirrel) in that he is destined to return when the world is in dire need.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The fox is gone" is a colloquialism amongst larger rural mammals meaning either, "I told you it wouldn't work" or "Something's wrong but I don't know exactly what".

Nick was off at a sprint, body as low to the ground as he could manage while weaving through the tall-enough grass behind the pawn shop.   _ That must be the first time I’ve wooed myself  _ into _ danger.  I rather look forward to her next attempt at talking sense into me,  _ Nick mused, sparing a lick of his lips and a shake of his body to smooth out the fur for a sleeker sheen.  At the fence before the tree line, he nimbly slipped through the wooden construct for the extra cover it provided him from the nearby houses.  To the best of his acute awareness, his dash went unseen and so permitted the endeavor for distance, remembering his running drills at the academy (and even outpacing the larger mammals, which then incurred arduous extra training from Judy Hopps).

A comfortable balance of functionality and compassion, Judy was never the type to discount one’s innate strengths in favor of “appearing civilized” (within reason, of course; it simply wouldn’t do to favor natural law over societal law, or vice versa, if the world could be such a better place if both worked in unison).  So, the fox was instructed in the use of not only his legs but also his arms, thus utilizing the powerful spring of his spine and grabbing those extra inches with each stride. Running on “all-fours” was not something done for the entire distance covered -- a lifetime of upright motion does not simply  _ give way _ \-- but so long as he timed his pounces to the geography, Nick could gain the burst of speed to, with any luck, arrive at the bakery while Gideon was still loading up after a quick shortcut through the trees.

The midday haze weighed on the canopy far overhead, leaking through the gaps of leaves as cooled, individual rays of sunlight.  For a streetwise fox, like Nick, to dive headlong into a forest, one that he’d only once been guided through by a trusted local (and twice stumbled into), was not only foolhardy but dangerous.  The towering trees were all nearly identical to the city-slicker, nothing like the evergreens of his kithood home in Conifer District or the mapped-out Rainforest District, and to be turned around was so easy, so likely that it might as well have been a  _ certainty _ .  Lucky for Nick, he was a fox and a fox always has an ace up their sleeve for dangerous, foolhardy situations like running headlong into the unknown, and as a  _ red _ fox, he had an innate sense of north as his waypoint along with the knowledge that he wasn’t delving  _ too _ far in (and as a kit-at-heart, he still remembered the self-taught wilderness survival he and his dad learned from out the Junior Ranger Scouts handbook).

Scurry.  Pounce. Scamper.

Scurry.  Pounce. Scamper.

It was a primal rhythm of muscle and sinew, blood and breath that kept his pace for those short minutes of running, a flow of endorphins that refreshed the mind better than any triple-shot espresso.

_ What I wouldn’t give for a triple-shot espresso right about now _ , Nick heaved, leaning on an especially twisted root to catch his breath, knowing to inhale through the nose and let it out of the mouth to prevent hyperventilation.  He flinched as his tingling whiskers laced his thoughts with a single doubt: whether he had stopped to rest or whether he had stopped because he was not as alone as he originally thought.   _ That’s probably just someone out on a lunchtime walk, _ he considered, sniffing at the air more intently and pointing his ears in every direction he could manage,  _ Which I assume mammals do out in the country, as opposed to sensible leisure activities, like napping. _

After a quick scan, Nick reoriented himself and continued on his way through the “shortcut” but at a sneakier, still swift pace as the city fox assured himself that he was not the only one in the woods, and it was no coincidence that whoever  _ they _ were decided to take a stroll when he did.   _ I don’t have time for this _ , he grumbled, and kept low to weave through roots and avoid what his skulker’s instincts told him were the least disadvantageous places to be, which gained frequency until there were no good options left…

The glade he burst out into was bright for the seconds it took his nocturnal eyes to adjust, thankfully, his ears and nose “saw” everything he needed to and so silently cursed himself for such a rookie mistake.   _ Jogging and sleep deprivation are not doing me any favors… I’ll need to refrain from both in the future, _ he chastised, realizing the full extent of his folly and dread.  While the trees  _ might _ have provided him extra cover to escape Tad’s house and  _ maybe _ he could have snuck away without anyone seeing (as he was so adept at doing ever since his career as a hustler), he had to accept that his pursuers  _ knew _ how to catch a fox, especially when they were in a terrain he was unfamiliar with.

“Mr. Wilde!” a cordial, long-eared blur said (which eventually had the common decency to form into a rabbit).

_ I figured the house was being watched but I guess they didn’t scatter when the deputy rolled around. _  “Who’s that?” the fox asked through his blinking and rubbed at his eyes enough to put on a proper face.

“We’re from the Burrow Watch,” the rabbit said, certainly looking and acting like he was in charge, “It’s a good thing we ran into you, we’ve been searching  _ everywhere _ .  Are you alright?”

_ Lie to me some more; say that Judy sent you _ , Nick inwardly scoffed but feigned gracious relief as his green eyes scanned the rabbits present.  Their furs varied in colors and patterns, male and female alike, garbed in no specific theme or uniform except that each had either a stun-pistol or tranq-rifle.  What stood out to him, however, were two very important factors: first, the so-called “Burrow Watch” was comprised  _ entirely  _ of rabbits (maybe some hares), despite Bunnyburrow boasting numerous species still lingering about the TBR; second, was the gut feeling he couldn’t shake that  _ no one _ in that well-equipped fluffle was anything he’d describe as “Joe or Jane Bunny” (as is often the case with small town militias) since each and every rabbit stood in their surrounding crescent “at ease”.  “ _ Oh, _ thank goodness!  I’ve been lost in these woods all  _ morning _ ; my friends must be worried  _ sick _ .”

The lead rabbit studied the fox carefully.  He was well-sized for a bunny, a darker gray in color with cream undertones, definitely middle-aged and showing it in his figure and fur, but was by no means a pushover or laze-about.  “You’ve been missing since O-four-hundred,” he formally reported and then continued, “We’ve come to bring you in.” There were some setting jaws and knitting brows amongst the lead’s entourage before he added, “With as little hassle as possible _. _ ”

_ These ‘simple country folk’ aren’t buying my spiel any more than I’m buying theirs, _ Nick thought, not that he imagined he would get very far into a conversation with them,  _ But you can’t blame a fox for engaging in some light banter _ , “Then let’s cut to the chase, Mister…” and took a half-step back as he shrugged, “I’m sorry, it seems you’ve got me at a disadvantage?”

Though a no-nonsense face resisted giving out such information, he seemed compelled by some inner principles to grunt his concession out the corner of his thin-lipped mouth, “Mr. Barley.  Now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way, would you be kind enough to… cooperate?”

Nick scoffed outwardly this time, if politely, “Mr. Barley, you’re going about this all  _ wrong _ .  I’m already outnumbered and outgunned, so if you want me to play along with this little charade then  _ tell _ me to, instead of offering the option to do otherwise.”  He smirked, shrugging a little wider at another half-step back, “Trust me when I say this, but the last thing  _ you _ want to do is give  _ me  _ options.”

Mr. Barley groaned under his breath, “In that case, come along  _ quietly _ and you’ll be… reunited with your kin in due time, but make this difficult and it’ll take  _ much _ longer.  I hope that’s clear enough for you.”

It was not Nick’s first time in such a precarious situation (granted, it was the first time in so strange a place, with so many guns ready to point at him, and not  _ completely  _ his fault) and after the first one or two skirmishes in which he was back-to-back with Judy down a dark alley, she decided it was the best idea in the world to hone Nick’s survivability, thus channeling it into something more useful than escaping by the skin of one’s teeth (an ideal which Nick still argues ranks amongst the highest in terms of “usefulness”).  Ever-so-carefully, the fox played with a thread of the Burrow Watch by inching even further back, to where the ends of the crescent surrounding him closed in; with an impeccable moment of timing, he could disarm that one especially twitchy rabbit with the tranq rifle as it was leveled on him and start enough mischief to flee.  _ All I need is the right kind of bluff for the job… _ he pondered.

“Well,  _ that’s _ good to hear, we are at a reunion after all, and what a  _ surprise  _ it was to find out how  _ much  _ family I’ve got out here,” Nick said, earning a hard, inquisitive stare from the lead bunny, who in turn earned a few unsure glances from his group, “Always wanted friends and loved ones to count on, fellow foxes who’ve got my back when I need them… who will miss  _ me  _ almost as much as I would miss  _ them _ , you know?”

Arms crossed severely as long, smoky gray ears thrust forward, “Your  _ cousins _ , you mean?”

“Who  _ else _ ?” Nick spared a lighthearted chuckle, “I mean, I’m sure you already know about the one in care of the sheriff right now, so she’s plenty safe, and, of course, there’s her brother, so that’s the two Greys…”  The line artfully dangled, watching as Mr. Barley’s eyes narrowed before their gazes locked, and then the rabbit’s widened into his furrowed brow. Nick could see the creeping doubt plain as day,  _ Oh no, was there another fox?  Did we perhaps overlook someone?  There were only the three, right? _ he inwardly mocked and awaited his cue with another patient half-pace back.

“… _ And _ ?” he asked.

“‘And’…?” Nick teased.

“Who  _ else _ is there, Mr. Wilde?”

“ _ Oh _ , yes, of course,” the fox gesticulated, putting a paw to his chest with the other sweeping out in a grandiose bow of sorts to place it loosely behind him, and idly swayed his bushy tail; as he hoped would happen, the rabbits at either end of the crescent shifted the slightest bit so that the one with the tranq rifle was right at the edge of his peripheral vision.   _ And now to ice this cake with just enough fact to seem believable _ , “I’ve only known her recently, as you can figure, but she’s near and dear to my heart all the same; ears are a bit long for so foxy a lady as she, and maybe she’s a bit short, but her tail’s as fluffy as they come.  What  _ eyes _ she’s got to compliment her fur, though… who’d have thought purple and gray worked  _ so _ well together?”

Mr. Barley’s face and ears filled with crimson, like a thermometer against the Savannah Square asphalt, before pinching the bridge of his nose, “I know for a fact that you do  _ not _ have a cousin fitting that description, Mr. Wilde,” he said through a forced calm.  It felt like a wind whipping around stones as he tried to avoid saying anything that would ignite his fuse, “If only because I know, for a fact, that there are no  _ foxes  _ fitting that description.”

_ Just a teensy bit more, I think…  _ “Well, perhaps not my cousin, but as I said, she’s near and dear to my heart all the same,” and the cherry on top was a single sly wink.  All it would take is a single order for every firearm in the vicinity to ready and aim, the cue which Nick anticipated for his arm to swing around, grab the tranq-rifle on his immediate left to wrench it in a pendulous arch, loose a few choice darts, and so begin the pandemonium covering his escape.  Poised as a trap, the green eyes watched in suspended excitation as the bubbling  _ indig _ nation under Mr. Barley’s fur… faded after it was redirected on a subordinate that requested his attention.

“What!” the leader barked, turning with a glare before raising an ear at a formal whisper.  The last rush of adrenaline draining from his body was almost tangible to Nick as he, and the entire Watch, waited for the back-and-forth between Mr. Barley and whoever the younger rabbit was to conclude.  Of all that the fox’s ears could strain to hear, he picked up “…Are you  _ sure _ ?”, followed by an assertive nod, and then the head of the Watch contemplated.  “Alright, Mr. Wilde,” Mr. Barley said, sparing a breath to calm himself and then gave a gesture to the rabbits behind Nick, who only then realized that he began to sway where he stood -- not a single dart was needed to subdue him at that point.  They moved up behind him, no guns pointed, rather nudging him in the back with the butt of the rifle, “If you can stay awake, we’ll talk about this so-called ‘cousin’ of yours, and Ms. Hopps’s circumstances…”

_ Are you kidding me, they actually bought it! _ Nick fretted, frowning with all his might as he brought his paws up to his chest when urged forward,  _ Or did they see through the ruse completely? _  It was so simple… rile the leader into giving an order to seize this smart-alecky fox, tensions already running high in a group of action-ready individuals that just spent a morning squatting in an open field, watching a house  _ just in case  _ anyone escaped.  He never expected them to actually  _ believe _ that there was a vixen with Judy’s identical colorations (a mental image he was not at all opposed to after hearing of it the night before, despite his teasing, and figured he could rile a few rabbits with the implication that he referenced Judy as a vixen rather than a bunny); a fish that does not take the bait goes uncaught, after all, and when one’s plan hinges entirely on an expected reaction, well…  Nick’s mind raced for a secondary, a tertiary… an  _ emergency _ plan to escape from this newest worst-case scenario, but all his brain could manage to focus on were the vying concerns of “What was that about Judy’s circumstances?” and “What was he so ‘positively sure’ about?”.

The crescent was then a circle of rabbits, gradually tightening around its quarry… until several long ears flicked at odd sounds that Nick only then realized were jostling branches, and from those few perceptive rabbits came sharp gasps and hushed muttering.  Like dominos, each member of the Watch, Mr. Barley included, stared up into the canopy high over the glade to spot a single blackbird perched upon a bough. It seemed that time stopped for them all as they watched it… and it watched them with a single caw. Nick wasn’t too concerned, it wasn’t the only bird he saw in those woods, after all, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Another blackbird fluttered into view after some eternal seconds to join in perching, watching, and cawing.  Its addition had polarized effects on rabbits and fox, the former relaxed and even a bit gracious that there were two instead of one, but the latter was definitely non-plussed.  And then  _ another _ blackbird made it a flock of three, and all mammals on the ground shared in the disconcerted demeanor.  They were certainly large, as blackbirds often are; Nick wouldn’t know it but there are horror stories of mice, squirrels, and young rabbits being picked up by large birds and flown into the sky, never to be seen again (thus tranq-darts and stun-guns as common an implement as hoes or shovels around the carrot farm).

_ Why are so many grown rabbits, armed to the teeth, about ready to faint at the sight of them? _ Nick wondered as the worried fluffle seemed more concerned with huddling up into a defensive formation than ensuring his capture, leaving him ample opportunity for a dash into the trees,  _ I mean, I know there are whole mythologies based around birds as divine beings or whatever, but c’mon guys, they’re birds. _  The fox certainly wished he had a fourth or fifth wind in him to take advantage of such a serendipitous outcome, but his adrenaline spikes were finally taking their toll and it was all he could do to stay standing.

That same subordinate adjacent to Mr. Barley then raised his tranq-rifle and took aim, only to have his superior shove the barrel down with an indignation that outshined his recent crimson-faced state, “ _ Don’t _ , you fool, you’ll curse us all!” he almost growled.  His ears sprung, and he certainly seemed ready to rescind his own reprimand as the air filled with an almost deafening brume of wings and cawing; it was standing room only for the blackbirds that day as they surrounded the fluffle (and Nick).  And watched.

“Are they crows?” asked one rabbit.

“Are they ravens?” asked another.

“How _many_ are there?” and sounded about ready to count them out.

A gap formed with a flutter as a shadow passed over the lot of them, and so landed a truly monstrous blackbird, ancient and wizened, enthroned upon a branch groaning in protest beneath its weight.  Great ebony wings tucked to its sides as if they were a judge’s robes to study the frozen fluffle from down its scythe-like beak. The stories Nick  _ had  _ heard of (they boasted their own horror sub-genre, after all) about even  _ larger _ birds picking up  _ adult _ mammals, and that was that; more than anything, he wished his legs would obey his commands to run.

**_“NICK!”_ ** it cawed.

The rest joined in an accusatory cacophony.

_ There’s a little bit of pee coming out of me right now… _ Nick realized.

“Reapers!” cried one rabbit.

“Psychopomps!” cried another.

“Demons!” cried another still.

Mr. Barley stood between the members of his Watch and the largest blackbird so that they were behind him, and lad them all in making the sign of the four-leafed clover.  They were definitely scared, but he -- in what Nick could only describe as an oddly brave act -- turned his back on the blackbird to face his fellow bunnies… and by the way every ear drooped, it seemed they all accepted some terrible fate.  From the group came two rabbits, one patched with slate and white, the other a burnt caramel in color; they handed off their firearms to Mr. Barley and he embraced them each in turn.

“Take care of Sam for me, okay?” said one singled-out rabbit to the other.

After a misty-eyed nod, “And you’ll take care of Andy if it’s me?”

They embraced after agreeing to each other’s final wish and then together approached in solemnity.  With an exchanged worry, one spoke up, “I-I am Nic Thistlemore.”

To which the second followed, “And I am Nicky Winge.”

The blackbird studied them where they stood, and after exchanging more worry, they knelt down, crossed their fingers and held them up at level with their bowed, closed eyes in a long, tense silence.

_ I have no idea what’s happening here and I’m not curious enough to find out _ , the fox decided, finally feeling his legs respond as he crept back to the trees, eyes forward and about at all the birds paying attention to those  _ not _ him.  He then jumped his height into the air with a yelp at the agitated fluttering and cawing immediately behind him, the monstrous blackbird turning on Nick with its inky black gaze to ruffle its feathers into a downy mane, the shoulders of its wings spread as a though to point.

**_“NICK,”_ ** it cawed again.

Nick went pale beneath his fur, gawking up and about as the tribunal announced their sentence on the fox.  He faced the rabbits, who hastily accepted their own back into their ranks, but when the fox attempted the same they pointed their firearms to stop him dead in his tracks.  No eye was filled with anger or determination this time, but rather pity and mortal fear.

“Okay, truck me off, I’ll come quietly, I  _ swear _ ,” Nick begged in compliant, desperate cordiality, crossing his heart with one paw and zipping his lips with the other before holding out both wrists with sparing glances at the birds overhead.

Mr. Barley looked down the barrel of his stun-gun in deep lament to state matter-of-factly, if pained, “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilde, but your fate is already sealed.  Move out,” he ordered the Watch. Each rabbit lowered their firearm in turn and tried to look Nick in the eyes with such regret whenever he beseeched them before they hurried off into the woods beneath the border of blackbirds.  He was the last to holster his stun-gun and turn… before stopping to half-pivot back, “We’ll let your cousins know what happened,” nodded in sympathy, and then was gone.

Alone, Nick spun and glanced about for anything he could use, but as it was that entire morning, the countryside gave him very little to work with.  Any attempt to sneak or run past the otherwise silent birds was met with cawing and flapping, so, he stood in the middle of the glade and fought the urge to curl up.  In one last effort, he cleared his throat and addressed the largest, “Hi, I’m Nick Wilde,” he said, and then held up his crossed fingers, if different than the rabbits did, “I think this is something of a…  _ misunderstanding _ ?  I’m pretty sure those bunnies are…”  _ What’re they called… _ “followers of the Hexward Tenets, but you see,  _ I’m _ an…” and thought carefully before finishing the sentence.  While it was not learned through  _ his own _ experience, Nick knew what happened to suspects that spat in the face of a cop or judge to openly deny the law, and while there was still some part of him that was quite sure that the birds were  _ only _ birds, he couldn’t ignore the lead pit in his stomach.  “ _ I _ come from a  _ Chronicler _ family, so there must have been a  _ mix up  _ in the paperwork; an honest mistake, I’m sure…  Funnily enough, I was  _ just _ on my way to see a lion about a thing, but I will let him know I ran into you, and then we can get this whole…  _ ‘fate’ _ thing figured out.  How’s that sound?”

His ears flicked to a soft, distant crunching of leaves and twigs that played on the edge of his hearing for some time, and as it got nearer he couldn’t help but feel as though he’d truly been trapped; Nick wondered just how many safeguards and contingency plans Magnus Hopps set up to keep him and his fellow foxes (which he, in his heart-of-hearts, included Judy) in check.  It was then that he caught the whiff of a smell that froze his blood and sent him running off in the other direction, ignoring the birds. The birds were not so easily ignored as they raised their talons and beaks and wings to block Nick’s escape, forcing him back into the center of the glade.

_ Welp, I’m dead, so thoroughly and profoundly dead _ , Nick dreaded, chest heaving as he stared off into the dim of the trees to spot a tall figure approaching, knowing that even if he  _ did _ try to escape, it would be in vain.  What he smelled was the signature on his death warrant; the engraving of his epitaph.  He smelled a wolf, and he smelled a firearm.  _ I guess at this point I get to decide if where he shoots me is in the back or not _ , he thought,  _ Alright, Judy, my bunny-shaped-fox, I might as well put into practice the best lesson you’ve ever given me _ , and stood tall with a loosening shake of his limbs.  He straightened his shirt and his tie and thrust both paws into his pockets to face his ‘fate’ head-on, as he knew  _ she  _ would.

Into the glade meandered a tall wolf, boasting the old-timey rifle Nick figured he smelled, and a thick, weather-beaten coat.  To say he was  _ old _ was an understatement; from the looks of it, Father Time beat him with a heavy stick but eventually just gave up trying to let him be.  Nick was glad that it wasn’t at all what he expected him to look like, but knew better than to assume skill based on appearance (as opposed to  _ deducing _ skill based on appearance).  The blackbirds took wing, individually and then  _ en mass _ until only a few remained with the largest, which hopped down from branch to branch to land upon an outstretched paw of the lupine, finding its perch on a sturdy shoulder-pad.  A rock served as his own seat, using the butt of the rifle as something of a walking stick with a grunt, and leaned the firearm against his other shoulder.

Nick then released the breath he didn’t know he was holding.  “The Gravedigger, I presume?” the fox said in strained composure.

The wolf looked at him and then at his weapon.  “It’s a rifle, not a shovel,” he answered in a deep, gravelly voice, “I’d sooner dig graves with my own paws than with  _ this _ ; and  _ have _ .”

_ He’s not the Gravedigger and has a morbid sense of humor _ , Nick realized, feeling like he could fall back onto the mossy floor of the glade and start singing an amalgam pieced together from Chronicler hymns he knew (or he assumed he knew).  The fox ran a paw through the fur on his head and breathed out a long, welcome sigh of relief, taking a moment to sit heavily on the ground, “Alright, so,  _ who _ are you?”

“I’m Edward Mallupe, kit,” he said matter-of-factly, “and I’ve reason to believe you’re Nick Wilde.”

**_“Nick,”_ ** the blackbird cawed and Mallupe reached up to scratch through its plumage.

The fur spiked and matted along Nick’s spine, “And you taught them to do that?”

“They’re smart birds, but can’t give ‘em  _ too _ long a thing to say.”

_ There are so many questions right now, _ “Great, you control creepy crows.  Ravens?”

“Ravens; raise and train ‘em for tracking.”

“Fantastic,” Nick said as snark filled the gap where terror was washed out by absolution, and to stop his spine from tingling, “Are you hoping to cash in on the bounty?  Because I  _ am _ in something a rush and you don’t seem like you’re in any great hurry to catch me.”

“No, go ahead,” the Grey’s nearest next door neighbor said, and as Nick contorted to leave he stopped when he heard the rest of that thought, “I’m just here to make sure you’re alive.”

_ I need to keep moving but I can’t let that hang there, _ Nick grimaced and turned around again to sit closer to the wolf.  “Thank you,” he said succinctly, “you’ll forgive me if I’m not completely conversational right now but it’s been something of a rough morning.  Why, exactly, are you checking up on me?” His ears perked at a thought, “I don’t suppose Gideon got a message out, did he?”

“ _ Hmm _ ?  No, not Gideon,” Mallupe dismissed, “Kela called me.”

_ Was Alphie keeping an eye on me?  Probably did after my face popped up on the darknet, _ “Okay, I’d like to reiterate my query:  _ why _ are you checking up on me?  I’ve  _ never _ heard Kela mention you before.  Is it because I’m his ‘alpha omega’?”

“It’s because he  _ asked _ me to,” the wolf patiently explained, “It’s the Code, Nick, I do everything in my power to find one of his, as he would if one of  _ mine _ got taken.”

Of course, Nick knew of a “Code”, or what Kela called “The Law”, which was different from “the law”, an important distinction that the alpha wolf was keen on balancing, and often took the brunt of the responsibility if they ever conflicted.  “Okay, Ed -- can I call you ‘Ed’? How about ‘Eddy’? -- look, Eddy, I’ve only been an honorary wolf for a few months but one of the few things I’ve noticed is respect for the hierarchy, so no matter the pack, alpha wolves are  _ always _ spoken of with some degree of reverence… unless spoken about by other… alphas,” and folded his paws beneath his nose in thought, a gesture which he then pointed at Mallupe, “I have a question…”

“Aye?”

“There wouldn’t happen to be a  _ third _ alpha in Zootopia to which all other wolf alphas defer, is there?”

“Aye.”

“Are  _ you _ that alpha?”

“Tha’s  _ two _ questions, kit, but aye.”

Nick cleared his throat and straightened his tie.   _ A third alpha… this changes everything.  I assumed this whole time that the power-balance was between two alpha wolves, but now there’s a third? _  “So, you’ve already established a… a positive relationship, I’d say, with Alphonse Kela, but what’re your views on Ferris MacGrim?”

Captain Kela had more than one reason to bring Nick into the pack, and it wasn’t only for his Night Howler-sensitive nose.  The fox knew how to find just about anyone in the city, had connections that didn’t run very high up the skyscraper, but certainly wove deep enough into the underworld to keep an ear to the ground.  Yes, while he provided the wolves a quick pass into the hottest, hippest places to dance, he also got the ZPD captain insight on the shadiest dealings. Kela and MacGrim couldn’t touch each other, not according to “The Law”, not if they wanted to keep the tentative peace for not only wolves but predators and prey alike; it meant that if the illegal activities of one pack attracted attention from the crime-fighting of the other, whatever was happening was dropped.  No arrests, but no violence or continued activity. Just walk away and clean up -- one wolf saw it as a game, the other did not. Kela sought to end it once and for all, even if it meant his career, to finally bring MacGrim to justice… so he enlisted the help of a fox, one he witnessed traversing the darkness of Zootopia and coming out a good cop in the end (despite Nick’s insistence on using what Kela called “tricks”).

“They’re  _ both _ pups,” Mallupe grunted, “but Ferry needs Alphie far more than the other way ‘round,” he then sighed.

_ No kidding.  If Alphie ever stepped down as captain, Ferry _ , and he couldn’t help but snicker inwardly,  _ wouldn’t have that perceived protection.  Bogo abides Kela’s ‘Law’ if only because he stops MacGrim’s crime, even if he doesn’t bring anyone in for it. _

“Hey, kit, ‘sonly fair that I get me a question, now,” the aged wolf continued, “Why’d you think  _ I _ was the Gravedigger?”

The fox blinked, and glanced up and down as though to imply that there was little anyone else for him to assume a rifle-toting wolf to be, “An honest mistake on my part, it won’t happen again.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, kit,” he said pointedly, “The Gravedigger stays in the city.”

_ No, I suppose Alphie wouldn’t divulge important police info, even to another alpha,  _ “Well, for saving my life, I owe you that much,” and earned a querying arch of the wolf’s brow, “The Gravedigger is locked down in Preds’ Corner, unable to quietly slip away on account of a  _ slew _ of, shall we say,  _ fanatical _ guests.”

“I wondered why those Lookers came back here…” and scratched behind an ear, “I don’t s’pose  _ you _ had something to do with that, ‘eh kit?” and chuckled a dry, hoarse laugh, “You’re clever, I’ll give you that, but also good; don’t see that too often.”

“You know, Kela says something similar, but with a few more words thrown in,” and shrugged in good humor, “Probably best to keep me out of the alpha seat, though.”

Mallupe reached a claw inside his ear to scratch around, “Maybe not of a wolf pack, no, but you’re alpha material all the same,” he said offhandedly.

Nick hooded his eyes and arched his brow, “That’s very…  _ kind _ of you to say, Eddy, but foxes  _ aren’t _ alphas, that’s for big mammals that don’t mind drawing attention to themselves.”

“ _ Every _ species has an alpha, kit, they just don’t act the same, is all.”

“What about bunnies?”

“Even bunnies.”

“Well, I’m probably best friends with one, in that case,” he mused, grinning in utter amusement at such a thought, “But I’m sure if there  _ were _ a fox alpha, I would’ve met them by now; it’s kind of my thing.”

“Not always,” the wolf shrugged, “Fox alphas are as tricky as they come.”

_ Uh huh… maybe he’s just an old coot after all… _ “Listen, I really  _ do _ need to hightail it over to Gideon, so if you could do me a favor and let Kela know that Esther and I are safe and that the Gravedigger’s trapped, that’d be  _ super _ ,” and gave a double thumbs-up during his departure to scamper, pounce, and scurry out of the glade, unaware of the wolf’s casual wave of farewell.   _ ‘Fox alpha’ my perfectly-shaped tail, might as well wear a neon sign saying ‘Look at me, I’m important’ and cause all kinds of trouble.  Still, thanks to Mallupe I managed to fake my own death without trying. And what a death to fake! _ the fox mused as he traversed the woods once more.

_ And now, for the easy part of sneaking in and hiding…  _ Nick thought as he came out on the other side of the trees, and remained hidden at the far end of the empty lot behind Gideon’s bakery,  _ Maybe I’ll help myself to a pie or four.  I think I earned it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Payton Barley, leader of the Burrow Watch, is based on a character of the same name from "Sofia the First", in the episode "Bunny Swap" (voiced by Khary Payton). I enjoyed bringing Mr. Barley into this story because he allowed me to show how the more traditional bunny acted when the focus of a scene (since Judy, Bo, and Grav have been the primary bunny models up until now). Watch members, as Judy explained, are not considered a "cops" by any stretch of the imagination (a crucial distinction any and every Watch member emphasizes if the issue is brought up). They are civilians and are permitted to make citizen's arrests, but the Burrow Watch is more of a reactionary surveillance group, dedicated to "observe and report" rather than "protect and serve", preferring to keep all manner of legal apprehension to the sheriff's office. It is worth noting that Watch bunnies are the keenest shots in all the Tri-Burrows, trained to draw, load, cock, and aim a rifle to tranq a bird-of-prey as soon as it dives (most rifles and stun-pistols are kept empty, even when carried). Judy was amongst the sharpest shooters in the Burrow Watch as a teenager before she left for school, and to date holds the record for the most citizen's arrests in the Watch's entire 130-year history: 1.
> 
> (It's not upheld with any manner of pride but neither is it considered a black mark; it simply is. Ironically enough, membership in the Watch was expected to "get it out of her system" but it only managed to embolden her.)
> 
> Edward Mallupe was mentioned in a previous chapter and is based on the character Edward Teague, from "Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End" wherein he is Capt. Jack Sparrow's father (which fit in this story, being the father of Mack "The Sparrow" Mallupe). His keeping of "The Code" is similar to Teague's keeping of the "Pirate Code", as is Capt. Kela's keeping of "The Law" analogous to Akela's keeping of "The Law of the Jungle". On that same thread, Ferris MacGrim is based on Maugrim, a ne'er-do-well from "The Chronicles of Narnia"; he felt like the appropriate foil to Capt. Kela considering he's the head of "The Secret Police" and does not seem to care for any law aside from rule by strength.
> 
> The deal with the birds is thus: there's a superstition about blackbirds (whether crows or ravens... or blackbirds, some manner of corvid) and how their presence is an ill omen, depending on how many there are. One is bad luck and two is good luck; it continues, switching back and forth so that odd=bad and even=good (feel free to make parallels as to how "odd" rabbits are generally ostracized in favor of those that are more... "even"-minded). How this relates to rabbits and the Hexward Tenets (since you'll recall that the four-winged bird in the window is the emblem of the House of Blessings) is that back in ye olden days, where a rabbit could likely die by leaving the warren, it was considered terrible luck to go out alone; not that they were necessarily safer in larger numbers but more that should they die, then at least they wouldn't have to face death by themselves. Isolation is deemed worse than death for bunnies and was repeatedly proven to either kill or drive a rabbit to absolute madness. With death accepted as an inevitably for small prey species, the greatest comfort when met with the guides to the Great Beyond (i.e., crows; ravens are tricksters and wolf-friends, to be avoided at all costs) is that they make the journey in the company of another rabbit. The sight of two crows has since developed from its original perception into a generally good omen.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Surely, though one of us falls, the others are only made stronger by it. Are we not creatures of clay, roots, and soil? Do not our hearts share the very pulse of the land? Let them raze the trees and mountains, boil the seas and sky... but by the Stars above, we are rabbits! Seeds sprout in our paws, plants spring up beneath our feet! They will know that they do not fight one rabbit or one warren, but every rabbit who has ever toiled in these fields and nourished the crops with our sweat, blood, and tears! If the world should be laid to waste... then surely, surely it is our fortune that we will grow it anew!
> 
> "Huzzah! Huzzah! HUZZAH!"
> 
> -Lady Agatha, Knight of the Midsummer Star (excerpt from the "The Rabbits of Justilled" series, Book IV of VII, "Talazar's Rebuff", just before a third of the population and farmland is wiped out by a plague of disease-ridden toads, sent by the evil fox sorcerer, Talazar; at the end of the book, Lady Agatha's noble sacrifice not only purifies but consecrates the land, strengthening it and surrounding acres ten-fold, thus garnering the attention of neighboring kingdoms to Justilled's plight, a major turning point in the series)

The hard part, as Nick should’ve seen coming, was calming the hysterical sack of bottled-up fear and dread of Gideon Grey.   _ I guess I should cut him a  _ little _ slack, as far as he’s concerned I just came back from the dead _ .  “Bangs, ‘shush’ means I need you to be quiet,” he whispered kindly, but hugged his bawling cousin, all the same, rubbing up and down his back in soothing attempts.

Gideon sniffed and huffed through clenched jaws.

“Okay, okay, pull yourself together, ya’ big baby, there’s still  _ lots _ to do and not much time to do it in, so we need to work fast.”

The unintelligible sniffing and huffing continued.

“Yes yes yes, Esther’s  _ fine _ ; she’s with the sheriff right now, safe and sound.  We also found her laptop with all that hard work from last night, so it’s been handed over to the proper authorities.”

A few sobs added to the incoherence as Gideon refused to let go.

“No, couldn’t find Judy yet, I’m afraid, but let’s be honest here, she’s the safest of us all right now.  We’ll get her as soon as we take care of this nasty Night Howler business, but more than likely,  _ she’ll _ come to  _ us _ .”

Gideon heaved and mumbled as he buried his face into the other fox’s shoulder.

“You did  _ great _ , Bangs,” Nick assured and patted the back of his head, “Your sister still has all of her glittery toes and I only got some slight bruising; speaking of, it’d mean the world to me if you could loosen your clutches a bit.”

The baker’s fingers dug into the more athletic back as he shook, quietly whimpering.

“ _ Or not _ , whatever works,” he casually said through the cringing, “By the way, I don’t suppose you grabbed my phone, did you?”

The hysteria finished its descent to normal (if stuttered) breathing.

“Excellent, thank you,” and tugged up Gideon’s shirts enough to pull out the mobile device tucked into the back of his pants, having chanced to spot it earlier, and wiped it on the damp grass before slipping it into his own pocket.

And then Gideon sat back on his ankles, wiping his eyes off on his forearms, palms, knuckles, it really didn’t matter where so long as he could see that Nick was okay.

“Well,  _ obviously _ I hid in the back of your van when you were at your bakery, and helped myself to a pie because I was famished,” Nick explained in sublime nonchalance, “Really, though, I could’ve danced around you and Bo and you wouldn’t have noticed,” he teased.  “Right, so, you about done blubbering?”

With a sniff and a nod and a recovered breath, Gideon answered, “Excuse me for fearing your  _ death _ , Stretch…”

“ _ Tut tut _ , cousin mine, I’ll have my demise feared by  _ no one  _ except myself… and quite possibly my mother, because I can’t very well stop her.”  He took a moment to examine the stouter fox’s attire with a thoughtful hum, “Hand over your undershirt,” he instructed and began undoing his tie, buttons, and sleeves to shrug off his borrowed flannel.  Nick licked his palms and began fussing up his already disheveled fur, but to such an extent that it looked truly unkempt, even going so far as to make his cheeks and chin seem like he went  _ several _ weeks without proper grooming, and then riled the fur atop his head until it fell forward and gave the illusion of his own set of Grey family bangs (however short they might be).  After giving his tail the same shabby treatment, Nick shook from it to the top of his head and back again until each strand of fur was out of place but in such a way that flowed in aesthetically appealing chaos.

Gideon didn’t bother to argue or question the request and shrugged off his own shirts, tossing the lighter, tighter t-shirt he wore to Nick (specifically, over his head) before pulling the thicker, looser one back on and buttoning it up.  Nick slipped it on and, as expected, it hung off his frame but added to his overall shabby appearance. Standing, he inspected the tie with its mustard stain and spat directly on it, using the white t-shirt to vigorously rub and scrub the tie clean, thus giving the undershirt a characteristic, isolated discoloring.  As a final touch, his borrowed flannel was tied around the waist and all-in-all, by how he held himself and the vacant look in his eyes, he looked a completely different fox. And after a quick self-checking sniff, “Yep, I even  _ smell _ like a Grey.”

“So, uhh… what’s all this, then?” Gideon whispered, suddenly standing upright as his collar was popped and the necktie secured in a tailor’s knot (no doubt the curious “quick-escape” knot demonstrated the night before) before flattened again.  He stiffened when his shirt was tucked in for him before straightening the waistline of his jeans as well as his belt. Finally, Nick unrolled and rerolled Gideon’s sleeves to make them more deliberate, more uniform.

“Keeping up appearances,” he said in his normal voice, “You have an apron, I assume?”

“Well,  _ d’uh _ , I have an apron.”

“Good, put it on ASAP, you need to look professional, first and foremost.  As for me, I am a completely  _ different _ estranged cousin you never knew you had,” Nick explained, grinning, and stood back in a slouch to drop the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses over his eyes, “You can still call me ‘Stretch’, o’course,” he said in a much more laid-back, country drawl than his suave, playfully pretentious, city tone of earlier, “And I’m here for the pie-eatin’ contest.

“By the way,” he leaned in, returning to the aforementioned city-tone a moment, “I’m pretty sure that was Lanny’s voice earlier…?”

“Yeah, he’s in the other ‘dummy tent’,” Gideon reported, chucking a thumb over his shoulder, “Got your message and ev’rything, but I don’t think we’ll need that Night Howler antidote stuff,” he grinned.

“I  _ heard _ ,” Nick responded in approval and clapped his cousin’s back, “You’ll have to explain what you did, but later, right now I need to speak with Lanny.”

Gideon nodded and turned to crawl back under the wall of the tent to the sunnier, yellower one assigned to him and his pie-eating contest.  There stood Bo, setting down his toolbox to cant his head and examine the baker, before snapping his fingers and smiling, “Oh, did you duck in there to change into a clean set of clothes?” he guessed, but seemed implicative of something else.

“In a manner of speaking,” Gideon answered and clapped his paws together, “Thanks for keepin’ an eye on the place while I did that thing I did.”

“You betcha,” the bunny said with a thumbs-up and stepped closer, “I also fixed that loose shelf in your van,” but then added discreetly, “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you had a good cry.”  To the fox’s flustered grunt Bo gripped his arm assuredly with a flick of his ears, “I heard ya’ crying, Gid, and your eyes are all puffy, but it’s  _ o-kay _ , I don’t think any less of you.  If  _ I _ had to pretend to poison a bunch of folk while  _ my _ family was held hostage, I’d probably need a moment, too,” and clapped the frowning, furrowed fox’s back… before pulling it away immediately, “Oh, sorry!  Sorry, I forgot you don’t like anyone touching your… you know what, I’m gonna go do something…  _ useful _ , like…”

“Jus’ shut up and go see if anyone’s out front yet,” Gideon remarked with a smirk and covered the rabbit’s face with his paw to push him away.

“On it!”

“Heyo!” came a voice from the back flap; leaning over from the side was an unkempt fox in an undershirt, wrinkled slacks, and a flannel shirt tied about his waist.  Even though Gideon saw the disguise assembled not a minute prior, he had to admit if he didn’t know it was Nick behind those glow-in-the-dark sunglasses, he might’ve figured some farm-fox wandered in to join the festivities.

Bo turned on a heel with a wiggle of his nose, before pointing, “Hey hey, dude, you can’t come back here,” scolded the rabbit, and then crossed his arms, “Employees only.”

“Wha-?” he gasped, stepping in with a lazy swagger, “Ah, c’mon, I’m  _ family _ , ain’t that count for somethin’?  How’s it, cous’, the pie-eatin’ about ready?”

“Yeah, sure, ‘cous’,” Bo scoffed and narrowed his eyes as his arms crossed tighter, “Well, if you’re here for the contest, you can wait  _ out front _ ,” and pointed with an assertive nod.

“There ain’t no harm in li’l ol’ me hangin’ about.”

“Like I said, ‘employees only’, and we’ve got important ‘employee stuff’ to take care of.  Right, Gid?”

The baker grabbed up his apron and looped his head through to tie the straps about his chest and waist, “Naw, he can stay.  Stretch here’s already an ‘employee’,” he chuckled.

Nick loosed a chuckle as well, but a bit higher to play up the part.

Bo glared at Gideon before grabbing his elbow and turning him about into a huddle so that both their backs were to ‘Stretch’, “Excuse us a minute,” he informed.  “You can’t be  _ serious _ ,” the rabbit continued in a harsh whisper for the baker’s benefit.  “How many more mammals are we gonna bring into this, Gid? Lanny has the antidote, I get that, but I don’t trust this so-called ‘cousin’; in fact, I think he’s the one that swiped my sunglasses.  And what’re you smiling about?”

“I’d say the disguise was a success,” Nick interjected in his normal, smug voice, popping in on Bo’s other side with the sunglasses perched on his brow, talking to Gideon while referencing Bo, “He still harbored suspicion, though… ah well, I guess Punch here isn’t quite the dumb bunny-”

“Gloves, you’re okay!” Bo exclaimed, grabbing and lifting Nick by the waist until he not only cleared the ground, but was well over the earthen rabbit’s extended ears, and looking quite unhindered in doing so.  Nick, dissimilarly, gripped the rabbit’s arms and braced his feet around the chiseled chest to afford himself some kind of stability, his tail sufficiently fluffed about as far as it could manage.

“Whoa, altitude change…” the startled fox commented, “I think my nose is bleeding…”

Gideon clapped a paw over his mouth and held his shaking belly in stifled laughter.

Nick’s feet found the temporary tiled floor again as Bo held his arms, eyes and face brighter than the noonday sun when he asked, “Is Judy with you?”

Any laughter quickly petered out as the foxes exchanged a frown over the brown bunny’s frame.  Nick cleared his throat and politely batted at the paws holding him so that he could fold his own and speak as carefully as he could.  “Punch…” he began, green eyes scanning the almost vibrating rabbit, “Judy is…” and then cleared his throat again to fold his paws  _ behind _ him, instead, “She’s…”

“Yea-huh?”

“Judy…”

“Yeah?”

“Is…  _ not _ with me.”

“Oh…” and drooped, only to inflate anew (if a little less than before), “Where  _ is _ she at?”

“I…” Nick sighed, “don’t know.  I’m sorry, Punch, but she wasn’t held in the same place Esther and I was.”

The tent seemed darker as Bo’s face drained of its hope, though still smiling if sadly, ears fallen behind his shoulders.  “Okay…” he numbly said with his bravest face, “I’m glad  _ you  _ got out, at least, and I guess you must’ve gotten Esther out, too, so I’m also glad for that.  It’ve been great if you saved Judy, too, but if she wasn’t there, she wasn’t there…”

“Listen,” Nick tried but the rabbit was deaf to the world as he departed past a worried Gideon, and disappeared behind the tent wall.  Sighing again, the taller fox rubbed the back of his head, “You know, sometimes I forget that I’m not the only one in the world who cares about Judy.”

“He’ll be alright,” Gideon said soberly as he adjusted his tie, and then pulled it out from behind his apron to give the quick-escape knot a tug, mood lifting at how quickly it popped free, “Jus’ needs a moment to himself, is all,” and then grimaced in concentration when he tried to retie it… before pouting at his cousin.

With an affirming grunt, Nick nodded towards the opposite tent wall, “Lanny’s behind there, then?” the taller fox pointed out, reaching over in nonchalance to fix the tie in a snap.

“Yep.”  Gideon smiled and tucked the neckwear back under his apron while turning towards the counter and his awaiting baked goods.

“I suppose he’d have to be, there aren’t many places to hide a lion in here, and by process of elim-” but stopped, realized he didn’t need to explain it to  _ himself _ , and instead headed in the direction he nodded.

“Hey, Stretch.”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for saving Essy.”

“She hardly  _ needed _ any help from me, but I was in the neighborhood…”

“And you’ll save Judy, too, right?”

Nick thought a moment, paws folded behind him, “Bangs, do you remember that really old story of Mr. and Mrs. Fox when he was a noble rogue or a roguish noble, and she was the fair maiden kept inside the walls of a usurper king?”

“Tha’s, like, the  _ oldest _ story of Mr. and Mrs. Fox, ain’t it?  It’s Essy’s fav’rite, so tha’s the one which was always read to us as kits,” he recalled.

“Mr. Fox rallies his merry band to save her and the kingdom…  It’s very romantic, but I once heard a different ending, one where despite all his cunning and bravery, luck and camaraderie, he winds up under the sword of the usurper king in the final clash, and it’s  _ Mrs. Fox  _ who arrives in the nick of time to save  _ him _ , and so are together triumphant,” he added with just a touch of dramatic flair.

“So… you  _ weren’t _ jus’ being cute when you said Judy was gonna come to  _ us _ , then.”

Nick glanced solemnly over his shoulder, “I have no clues, no leads to follow… I don’t even know where to  _ start _ looking, not that I have the freedom or authority to do so…” but then he smiled, “However, I  _ do _ have faith in our beloved Judy Hopps, and I know that’s all she needs to do impossible things.”

* * *

Nick paused at the end of the tent, a flick of his ears telling him that Gideon was starting the mobile oven to begin warming up the pies for the contest.  With such a dramatic, heroic end to their conversation, as he surely perceived it was, he knew that turning away from this music to face, this bullet to bite, was not an option.  So, he squatted near the yellow-striped wall to bat it. “Lanny, it’s Nick. Are you decent?”

“Let me slip something on first, I just got out of the shower,” came the response.

Upon entering, he spotted the tawny cat “decently” dressed in the same blue jeans but wearing a “MEWS” concert t-shirt that did not boast the looseness of the teal scrubs of his profession.  Lanny was sprawled on his back and staring up at the tent ceiling before craning his neck in address, and then lifted a mitt of a paw to wave in greeting before letting it flop back down again.  Quite visibly, he was the epitome of a poor soul “bored-to-death”.

“Hel _ lo _ ,  _ nurse _ ,” Nick chimed with appropriate flair, walking about so that the lion needn’t twist himself so much, “Thanks for coming out on such short notice, it really could save lives.”

“It’s not like I had anything better to do,” Lanny said not unkindly but then grunted in apology as he glanced at Nick, “I’m sorry, you didn’t deserve that.”

Nick shrugged unconvincingly and drew out a high, uncertain groan, “I  _ might’ve _ .  You’ve been stuck in this tent all morning because  _ I _ called you here…”

“You couldn’t know the Lookers would show up, though; they’re worse than telemarketers,” he dryly chuckled and seemed to decompress atop the grassy ground, idly glancing about, “I guess I should be grateful that this tent was empty at all.”

The fox shuffled his feet, “ _ About _ that… kudos, by the way, on dodging them, it had my stomach in knots  _ all _ the way here; as you said, they’re something of a bane to the existence of lions in your age bracket and it would’ve caused  _ such _ a big to do.  Who needs a mess like that, am I right?  Smart thinking ducking in here.”

“Thanks, I guess…  I might be wrong about this, but it sounds like you’re getting to  _ some kind  _ of point?”

Nick walked over and sat on the ground at the lion’s side, tapping his thumbs introspectively before pivoting in his seat to recline against the nurse’s chest, elbow resting on muscle built from summers spent as a dockworker (no doubt to pay his way through nursing school), and Nick knew that if  _ Bo _ could lift him overhead without trying, Lanny could likely launch him into low orbit.   _ I’ve dealt with furry semi-trucks before… not many that I feel bad about putting in a tight squeeze, though…  _  “Here’s the thing, Lanny, I’m going to be  _ completely _ honest with you for the next few minutes, one predator -- one  _ ‘Wild _ ’ to another,” and at the quirking eyebrow, “I’m  _ kind of _ the reason that the Lookers are in Bunnyburrow right now.”

The lion erected himself up onto his elbows, staring hard at Nick.  “What…?”

Pivoting to face him fully, Nick gesticulated his side of the issue, “I didn’t do it to be  _ mean _ or anything, I just… had a crazy idea, which I usually run with…  Okay, not  _ usually _ , I used to when I was younger, but the point  _ is _ , I called up a good friend of mine who knew his way around Internet forum firewalls, and had him spread a convincing rumor that the Missing Prince was spotted in Preds’ Corner on account of the TBR-”

“ _ Why? _  Why would you  _ do _ that?”

“ _Because_ , I was trying to get Felix Lapis down here by bugging all those bunnies from Knotash with a bunch of harmless fanatics,” he huffed, “I hoped by doing so I could get a face-to-face meeting and maybe let him know that Hexward’s being used for evil; alternatively, I wanted to get a read on him and see how far up the corruption went.”  Nick grimaced and then flicked his wrist, “It made sense last night, _okay_?  It was late, I was tired, and I just found out that I got my cousin -- someone I knew for a whole _two days_ , mind you \-- on someone’s kill list, and I… I wanted to make things right.  So… I’m sorry I got you into this… which I guess is my _actual_ point…”

Lanny gnawed his bottom lip and ran a paw through his cropped mane as he took some time to decide how he should feel about it all…

Not a fan of awkward silences that directly involved him, Nick endeavored to span the gap with some thread-pulling.  “Why’re you so afraid of the Prince’s Guard, anyway? They’re not  _ dangerous _ and  _ you’re _ not Simon King.  The worst they’ll do is ask if you’ve seen someone you’ve never met and give you a Missing Mammals leaflet; answer honestly -- or  _ not _ ; I like to see their reactions -- and they’ll go away,” the fox expounded as he reclaimed some of his easy air awaiting Lanny’s rebuttal… only to have the lion completely turn his back and roll over onto his side with his head propped up on an elbow.   _ And there’s that nerve I’m tap dancing on _ , frowned Nick,  _ It’s so much easier when I don’t have to answer for my actions. _  He stood up and stepped closer, restraining his snark for a bit, “What’s the matter?”

There were sounds of grass being pulled from the dirt before an answer came, “It… it’s a lion thing.  I really shouldn’t say.”

“That bad, huh?” Nick acquiesced and casually folded both arms to lean on Lanny as though he were a chest-high wall, “I get it; I usually claim ‘fox things’ when I don’t have any other way to explain it,” and then reached down to clap the lion’s torso before making to leave.

"Hey Nick…" he said, and when the fox's lanky form was leaning casually on Lanny's back once more, the lion glanced up in budding curiosity, “You said you got Gideon on someone’s ‘kill list’.  Is that a  _ euphemism _ , or…?”

“I  _ wish _ ,” he grumbled, “It was a dual effort, he and I; we practically spat in the face of the psychopath orchestrating this whole debacle.  In our defense, we didn’t know it was him at the time or that we were spitting in his face, but it’s true, ‘Nick Wilde’ and ‘Gideon Grey’ are officially targets.  So, knowing who the most likely suspect is, I reached out to the highest mortal power I could think of with the greatest and soonest effect, figuring if it had even less than one percent chance of working, it was at least worth trying.”

The lion’s tail whisked to bat at Nick’s ankles as its owner slowly rolled over and looked up with his paws folded on his stomach, chest rising with a deep, solemn, decisive breath while the fox sat on his waist as though on the edge of a bed of a moody teenager.  “About the Missing Prince… I heard from my uncle that Tycho King, being the younger brother to Memphis, arranged the kidnapping so that  _ he’d _ be the next in line for the family fortune, but… Simon was never found, and without  _ proof _ that he’s dead…”

_ Can’t say I’ve never heard that theory before, as one of the stronger conspiracies out there since Memphis waned in health only a few years after Simon disappeared,  _ Nick idly considered.

“I guess… it always felt like those Lookers were out to get me… and I’m not the only lion thinking that, you know…”  He tried to smirk, “I… must sound pretty paranoid, huh?”

The fox did smirk, “ _ Well _ , does paranoia keep you alive?  Yes, yes it does, and four out of five scientists agree, with the fifth disappearing under mysterious circumstances.”  The need for discretion was still paramount, so Lanny bit back a snorting chuckle and held his mouth as he shook in the stifled merriment.   _ There, now that’s the kind of reaction to which I can leave a room in good conscience _ , Nick surmised, “But these days, you’re a nautical ton of grade-A prime lion, so handling a few bothersome interlopers should be a piece of cake,” and thinking back to a wager his Dad made (and immediately regretted) while his  _ own  _ record remained untarnished, the fox issued a parting ultimatum, “I’ll tell you what, if I ever meet that Simon King, I’ll kiss him square on the mouth!”

Laughter was further muffled as the lion rolled on his back from one side and to the other, causing his fellow “Wilde” to stand up and skitter out of the way.  Only just managing to calm himself as he spotted the fox slipping off and sauntering his way to the exit, Lanny lifted himself up onto an elbow once more, “Before you go, I want to ask you something.   _ Will _ Judy be okay?”

Nick huffed through his nostrils and smiled sadly, “Judy’s location and circumstances are unknown, except that she is likely held captive by a group of psychopaths and her only known advantage is that they won’t kill her  _ immediately _ ,” he said, and then grunted with curious retrospection, “Goodness, it really  _ must _ be Monday…”

Lanny blinked, thought on it and then chuckled, “I’ll take that as a ‘Yes’.  Being my patient and all, I’ll need to check up on her eventually, you know.”

_ You’re alright, Lanny Wild _ , Nick grinned, “On that note, Judy  _ would  _ think it rude of me to not offer you a beverage before I take my leave, wouldn’t she?”

“Well, I’d be a poor guest to refuse such an offer, but maybe I can have some more pies with that whipped cream I keep hearing about?” he beamed, “The non-toxic stuff, I mean.”

“Careful, Lanny, only the  _ first  _ pie is free -- that’s how he hooks you -- but I’ll see what I can scrounge up,” and disappeared under the tent wall.

* * *

Once more amidst the atmosphere of a temporary kitchen, Nick breathed in the rich aroma of warming berry-medley pies with freshly buttered crusts.  For a single moment, he forgot all about Night Howler, and Magnus, and the Gravedigger… and floated on over to Gideon, who was scooping, swirling dollops of whipped cream and allocating as many as he could comfortably fit onto each tray.  Jovially, the taller fox slung an arm about his cousin’s neck to gaze in wonder and sniff in amazement as he reached out to inspect a perfectly crowned pie, only to recoil when a wooden spoon struck his knuckles.

“No touchie.”

“Ow,” he cringed, scowling and rubbing the back of his paw, eyes then hooded as he noticed the whipped-cream covered spatula alongside the wooden spoon,  _ He had it set aside specifically for my deterrence…  _ “Touché.”

“No, ‘touchie’; I know what I said,” Gideon countered, and then spoke lower as he nodded him in until their noses nearly bumped over the very tip of the curled whipped cream, “This is the  _ bad _ stuff.”

“But… it smells so  _ good _ ?” Nick marveled.

“That’s because I used chicken oil as a base,” the baker whispered, “We get it from the Tweeds ev’ry now-’n’-then.  Bunnies won’t put it  _ anywhere  _ near their mouths but it smells jus’ fine to us preds; that way, even if Magnus sends some of his goons to check it out, it’ll seem like I’m jus’ a dumb ol’ fox that don’t know what bunnies will or won’t eat.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“They want me  _ dead _ , Stretch, I don’t care what they think.”

Nick stood up, arms crossed, and blinked, eyebrows arched high over his head as he nodded, “Bangs, that has to be one of the slyest things I’ve ever had the pleasure to hear about,” and then shared in the grin.  As Gideon erected, he bashfully rubbed the back of his head and held his hip while receiving a firm clap on the back. “I wonder why I even bothered to scurry over here in the first place since both you and Lanny have things squarely handled,” he teased.

“I’m glad you did, though,” Gideon said, “Jus’ knowin’ you and Essy’re okay is such a weight off me, I can’t begin to describe it.  And… I guess it was right of you to come by and smooth things over with Lanny, considering  _ you _ got the Lookers down here… even if it  _ were _ to help me…  _ us _ , I mean…” he softly chuckled and then admitted, “I might’ve overheard some of what you were tellin’ Nurse Wild.  Not all of it, though; I ain’t a snoop.”

“Oh, before I forget,” Nick added, leaning on the table with care and speaking as discreetly as possible (and to not get too close to the dangerously delicious whipped cream), “I think you’ll be interested to know about our mutual associate, Tad Wooler.”

The baker’s ears pointed and eyebrows arched with such severity, they might’ve flung right off his face, “Don’t tell that was  _ you _ that brought in the deputies!” he gawked, with reciprocal discretion.

“I’m afraid so,” he admitted, and then rolled the statement around in his head, “In a manner of speaking, anyway.  Esther and I were kidnapped by none other than the ram who convinced  _ you  _ to participate in the TBR in the first place, but that’s not why the deputy and sheriff were there today… not  _ officially, _ I imagine.”

“Egad, it  _ must _ be bad to bring Rachel out on a day like today…” he huffed, and set down his spatula to lean on the counter as well, “So, what  _ was _ it that Tad was up to?”

Nick carefully studied Gideon’s expression as he pondered a quick moment, “Before I answer, I need to clarify something.  What do you remember about ‘Graves’, what did you  _ glean _ from your phone call?”

A long, slow breath filtered through puckered lips as dough-kneading fingers drummed along the counter’s edge in rapidity.  “Only that the Gravedigger’s the nastiest sniper in the world, and he ain’t  _ ever  _ been caught.  Shot a teeny little cassette right between my fingers from… I dunno, he must’ve sat on that mountain the train bends around gettin’ to the city, and there’s a hole in the window to prove it.  I tell ya’, Stretch, I’m right wary of  _ any _ open spaces from here on out.”

The farm-fox was paid an impressed smirk, “It seems I underestimated your metropolitan lore, Bangs, I figured the Gravedigger’s rep hadn’t stretched so far as Bunnyburrow, but am willing to admit when I’m wrong (so long as it doesn’t involve too hefty a wager).”

“It’s a shame you didn’t bet anything, then, because you woulda won,” he chuckled, “I didn’t even  _ know _ about him until that Chief of yours told me.”

What was once an impressed smirk faltered and flickered to a bewildered grin, “Chief…  _ Bogo _ , as in, ‘ten-feet of surly because he can’t wear pull-over shirts’.   _ That _ Bogo?”

“Yeah, ya’know… your boss,” Gideon prompted, and then gave a few wheeling gestures of his fists as he swished his hips in an attempt to dance, “Mr. He-Got-Moves?”

Nick stared a minute longer, brow knitted and snout cupped in disapproval (though not at his cousin’s continued, gradually exaggerated attempts at dancing), tapping a folded arm with the other paw,  _ That solves the mystery of how Kela knew about my predicament, at least…  _  “Okay, you need to explain how you hacked my phone because that’s  _ twice _ in as many days that someone besides  _ me  _ got past the lock screen.”

Gideon chuckled and swatted dismissively, “Tha’s funny, Stretch, but I know you hid your phone in the rain barrel for me to find.  That way when Benny called you,  _ I _ could answer and get right to Chief Bogo,” and then tapped his noggin with a grin, “Sly thinkin’, Stretch.  I dunno  _ how _ you planned all that, but that is  _ sly _ thinkin’.”

_ Oh… right, I asked Clawhauser on Friday to get back to me when he found something on Dent Wooler…  Did his leaving the city set off an alert? _ Nick pondered in absolute astonishment. “ _ Yes _ ,” he decided, “yes, all that was  _ definitely  _ deliberate.  I’m glad you followed along with that plan… that I planned,” and gave a shake of his fist for a short and minor victorious fist pump, “Good… good job, yes.”

“So  _ did _ they catch Graves?” Gideon hoped against hope, speaking even lower with furtive glances about the tent.

_ I’m pretty sure Mallupe needs more time to hobble back to his rotary phone, so not as such,  _ Nick shook his head, quickly answering the crestfallen response, “He  _ is _ pinned down in Preds’ Corner, though, to which we can thank the Lookers for.”

The baker moaned in realization, “No  _ wonder _ you felt bad about Lanny, you texted him in the witching hours to hightail it over here, and then you had to bring in those lion-crazy loonies to take care of Graves after gettin’ kidnapped,” he speculated.

Groaning inwardly, the urge to string the misconception along for his own amusement was overcome by the knowledge that he was unnecessarily dishonest with his own flesh-and-blood, and it simply wasn’t fun when it activated the guilt center of the brain.  “Thing is, Bangs,” he said and looped an arm about the other fox’s neck to bring him in closer, “I started the rumor  _ last night _ , right after Judy and I left the house to give you and Esther some privacy.”

“Then… how’d you know the Gravedigger was comin’ for ya’?”

“I didn’t, that caught me  _ completely  _ by surprise.  Like I told you already, I was under the impression that we had at  _ least _ the night to prepare for anything Magnus could throw at us; in fact, I was more worried about how I was to stay in Bunnyburrow  _ long enough _ to run counter-intel without arousing suspicion.  That’s why I thought I could bring in the Prince’s Guard as… a distraction of sorts, you could say,” Nick explained, “And I  _ certainly _ wasn’t expecting the  _ Gravedigger _ , of all mammals.”

Initially unresponsive, Gideon did at last speak, if slowly, “Lemme see that I got this right… you accidentally trapped the most dangerous killer in the world with the biggest bunch of nutbars in the world?”

Nick’s eyes rolled upwards as he hummed in thought.  “Yeah, that’s the long-and-short of it.”

“Stretch, I can’t decide if you’re the luckiest or  _ un _ luckiest fox in all of history,” he said and quirked his eyebrows, even lifting his paws in confusion, “Are you some kinda lightning rod for crazy, or somethin’?”

“Funny you should say that, because as it turns out, Tad Wooler -- which brings me nicely around to answer your initial question -- is not only one of the rams the Gravedigger had kidnap us but is also a predo-voyeur, and the sheriff’s office was at his house to arrest him for about… I’d say, twenty years worth of peeping, give or take?  He took a  _ lot _ of unwholesome pictures, and that’s only the stuff I  _ stumbled on  _ in the process of escaping with Esther.”

Nick’s habitual smugness (barely) kept him from breaking into hysterical laughter at the shocked grimace plastered across Gideon’s face.  He didn’t seem entirely…  _ surprised _ , just shocked.  When his mouth, at last, closed he looked down and away to touch upon the jutting jaw with retrospection, “Tad’s a  _ predo _ … that does explain why we were always at the laundromat on the same night…”

“Additionally, do you remember a young raccoon girl, a runaway that came to your apartment last year?”

“Trisha Rose?” Gideon immediately recalled, “What’s she got to do with…?”

“She’s the reason why Tad hates you forever because  _ you  _ saved her from his despicable plans that night,” Nick reported and grabbed his cousin’s paw to shake it, “As an officer of the ZPD, I thank you for your service to the community.”

The shocked grimace returned with a vengeance, and the stouter fox merely jiggled at the shaking of his paw before finally gulping to collect his thoughts, “No  _ wonder _ she was so scared… I jus’ fed her spaghetti and called for her pop to come pick her up, I didn’t know about all of  _ that _ .”

“I believe that one-hundred-percent,” Nick teased.

Gradually, Gideon’s face tightened and eyes narrowed at what he inferred, “Like  _ you _ know everything  _ you’re _ doing all the time; you about admitted so yourself,” and crossed his arms, “Been in Bunnyburrow  _ three days _ , and jus’  _ look _ at what’s happened.  I shiver to think if you stay the  _ week! _ ”

“In my defense,  _ Judy  _ was in the city only three days and  _ she _ sparked the Pred-Scare.”

“How’s that in your  _ defense _ ?  We don’t need  _ another _ Pred-Scare;  _ one _ is too many!”

Nick put both paws to his hips, “I’ll have you know I’m a  _ very _ lucky fox to have around.  Why, if we were kidnapped by-” and immediately stopped, “Never mind, forget I said anything.”

“Whoa-ho, Stretch,” Gideon denied, “Kidnapped by  _ who _ ?  Is there someone  _ worse _ than the Gravedigger?”

Nick averted his gaze with a scratch of his cheek, “No, of course not.  This situation is as worse as worst can get; I’m very lucky to have gotten Esther and myself out of it.”

“ _ Stretch _ ,” urged a singsong tone.

“No.”

“C’ _ mon _ , Stretch, you know you wanna tell me,” Gideon implied and poked his cousin with alternating fingers.

“Nope,” and crossed his arms.

The baker  _ ‘hmph _ ’ed and strolled on over to the oven with a sniff of the air, donning his mitts to pull out the freshest batch of pies and set them on the counter.  Nick’s resolve stayed true, though he eyed those pies something fierce when he inhaled the warm aroma of golden crust newly browned with butter and sugar but responded with his own  _ ‘hmph’ _ at his cousin’s sly grin.

Grinning slyer, Gideon used a metal spatula to lift a pie from the tray, so smoothly removed that it left only a characteristic circle of sprinkled sugar about its base, and mounted it upon a small plate.  He then pulled out a clean rubber spatula and opened up a container of the good whipped cream with a crisp, cool  _ pop _ to gather up a healthy dollop, and with a masterful gyration of his wrist, crowned the pie in a perfect swirl, leaving a single curl at the very top.  Nick quietly whimpered and kneaded his folded arms as the warmth of the pie caused its snowcap to drip the slightest bit, but closed his eyes and shook his head with a determined  _ ‘Mmh-mmh!’ _ .

Sauntering over to the fridge while whistling a soft ditty, Gideon retrieved a small cloth sack and brought it to the counter.  “I found me a wild blueberry bush nearby and picked a bunch before you lot showed up yesterday,” he conversed, and presented a rich, cerulean berry to flick it high into the air, catching it on his tongue and crushing it against the roof of his mouth with a juicy, satisfying burst, “Wanted it to be a surprise after everything was said and done, but this works, too.”  Nick watched with a lick of his dark lips as Gideon artfully nestled the blueberries one-by-one into the whipped cream.  _ ‘Mmhmm’ _ , was how he grunted after closing the berry-sack, and reaching into a drawer of the temporary counter, he withdrew a single fork to offer its handle to Nick, only just flicking his wrist away at the mad grab for it.

“I am not above faceplanting into that pie,” the taller fox warned.

“Tell me who’s worse than the Gravedigger,” the stouter fox countered, smugly positioning himself in front of the aforementioned really-good-baked-stuff.

Nick pointed and fumed, “You… I can’t decide if you’re pure evil or heaven-sent,” but smirked and held out his palm to receive the utensil.  After Gideon slid the pie over, Nick picked it up to savor its taste with muted moans of appreciation. “I hate you and love you right now.”

“I can live with that,” Gideon snickered, grinning still as he continued topping pies.

“They call him ‘Mr. Snatch’,” Nick narrated, “He’s to kidnapping what the Gravedigger is to assassination, except the former doesn’t leave behind a body and the latter is on the ZPD’s ‘Most Wanted’ list, not to mention one’s been around for decades and the other only cropped up in recent years.  It’s been gnawing at the edge of my brain, and one of the reasons why this whole thing with Graves felt so last-minute the more I found out.”

“‘Mr. Snatch’?” Gideon doubted, “Mr.  _ Snatch _ … sounds like a villain that Captain Warren beats up on a regular basis.”

With a confirming nod and grunt (and another mouthful of pie that he took his time to enjoy), Nick continued, “Unlike everybunny’s favorite patriotic super-soldier, he’s  _ very _ real but a complete phantom, even in the Zootopian underworld.  The only proof he even  _ exists _ is that when a target is designated as his, they  _ always  _ disappear (and from what little I’ve heard, it takes at least a week before anyone even  _ realizes  _ they’re gone).  My professional opinion is that ‘Mr. Snatch’ is actually something of a small, tight-knit organization operating under the guise of an urban legend, rather than a single mammal.”

“So… how do his targets get ‘designated’ if no one’s seen him?”

“Remember how Finnick found our names and faces on the darknet?  That’s how. The best he and I can figure, it’s a complex encryption that only a select few can use; targets are tossed out into cyberspace by clients with a thorn in their side, they’re picked up, terms are negotiated, and…” Nick sighed heavily, setting down the empty plate.  He could  _ feel _ Gideon’s hard stare, but one of deepening concern.

“Stretch… why d’you know so much about all this?”

In overwhelming placidity, Nick hunched his shoulders and flicked his tail, “Like I said last night, Bangs, I’ve got scars on my back, too.”

“Yeah…” Gideon complied after a full breath, and folded his paws to twiddle his thumbs and mention, “and since you know all about  _ mine _ , it’s only fair that I know about  _ yours _ …”

Nick glanced at Gideon.

Gideon glanced at Nick.

“Tit-for-tat, and all that.”

“You  _ really _ want to know, don’t you?”

“I got a funny feeling this involves last night’s story about a certain skunk-butt rug, dealin’ with spooky, shady types as you said it does, so… yeah, I think I  _ do _ ,” he rebutted, “‘Specially if you’re gonna keep up the habit of makin’ powerful enemies.”

“Why, so you know not to invite me over for  _ tea _ ?”

“No, ya’ dummy, so I can  _ help _ … as best I can, anyway.  Not sure what good pies’ll be in the  _ underworld _ , but I ain’t lettin’ my cousin skirt danger on an empty stomach, and tha’s a promise.”

Nick chuckled, “Well, that’s got to be one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said to me,” he mused, “We got each other’s back, right?”

“Right.”

“Right… I’ll tell you about it, but at another, less turbulent time… like maybe after we’ve been pushed out of an airplane without a parachute,” Nick considered to a stifled guffaw from Gideon.

“Hey, Stretch.”

“Yeah, Bangs?”

“Maybe it’s not my place to say, but… you been glancing over there an awful lot,” he said, returning sobriety to the exchange as he nodded to the yellow-striped barrier and the brooding brown bunny beyond, continuing after the momentary lapse, “He’s still back there, so far as I know.”

“Okay?”

“So go  _ talk _ to him.”

“I probably  _ should _ ,” Nick dismissed.

Gideon’s brow knitted, “Ya’know, I might not be able to hide my thoughts, or my  _ intents _ from you, sly as you are,” his expression then relaxed in a sympathetic frown, “but like I said last night, I know regret when I see it, and it’s all over your face.”

The aftertaste of that delicious pie was still on Nick’s tongue, bittersweet though it turned as he glanced from the wall to those bright blue eyes, unable to really focus on either.  “I wouldn’t even know what to talk about,” he said in attempted nonchalance.

A firm shoulder bumped into Nick’s, “You’re both worried  _ sick _ about Judy, and I’ll bet you’re kickin’ yourselves thinkin’ on how you can’t do anything to save her, huh?”  The taller fox frowned his shock, to which Gideon slightly smiled, “We’re  _ all  _ in the same boat, so start from there and jus’… be clever.”

After another heavy sigh, Nick stretched his back and cracked his neck, “You know, you were  _ so  _ much easier to lead around when you were all withdrawn and anxious.”

“Essy’d call it ‘unintended consequences’,” Gideon laughed and turned back to his pies after bushwhacking his cousin towards the fateful tent wall.

“Once more into the brink, then,” Nick determined and slipped underneath the ironically bright barrier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The noble rogue and fair maiden that Nick and Gideon know as "the first Mr. & Mrs. Fox" are this story's Robin Hood and Maid Marian (direct references to the movie, "Robin Hood") and the revised ending Nick described is based on an original draft, a version wherein King Richard has more of a role to play and Prince John far more lethal. In this rendition, the story of Robin Hood acts as a romantic adventure in the fox community extolling the supreme cleverness segregated mates implement to reunite and a cautionary tale amongst lions, namely, what happens to brothers who vie for power or status that is not theirs.
> 
> Lanny's shirt is of the Zootopian analog to the band MUSE; MEWS was one of the first bands that he paid the full ticket price to see and purchased a t-shirt for (he was lucky enough to eventually get it signed by the band members and so had that shirt framed, currently hanging over his bed in his apartment). Also from this scene, the wager that Nick made is a reference to Preston B. Whitmore from "Atlantis: the Lost Empire"; the "Square on the Mouth" wager is a favorite in the fox community to emphasize just how utterly outlandish and impossible a claim is. As it so happens, there is a fox ice cream joint in Nick's home district of Conifer called "The Frozen Fox" wherein one might settle a "Square on the Mouth" with a sundae of the same name (conversely, using such tactics to steal a kiss is generally perceived as "antiquated cleverness", even with its uptick in popularity amongst appreciators of all things "vintage").
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An archaic belief was that the weight of a mammal's crimes determined how long a rope was needed to hang them; the worse and more numerous the crimes, the shorter the rope. This perception did not often take into account the physical mass of the criminal in question, so when species began to form societies with one another and the gallows remained a form of punishment, the belief quickly turned quaint and was waxed poetic to express one's opinion on the matter. For example, "They were so bad, they could be hung with a mouse's eyelash", conversely, "It wasn't right what happened to them, had to hang them from the moon and wrapped twice around the planet..." if it was believed that a criminal was, in fact, innocent. Over the years, the phrases (and variations thereof) were used to describe a mammal's behavior in polite society, and in some cases, general opinion of the mammal as a whole; to some, "you'd be strung up from the moon" is considered a(n easily misinterpreted) compliment and contrary to popular belief, is not a reference to being the moon's necklace.

The rabbit was easily spotted in the gloom and not only because of the fox’s adaptive eyes but because the ear-pinned outline was cast by the glow of a smartphone.  The fox made no effort to sneak, knowing that a bunny’s keen ears heard him coming before he even left the other tent, diminished in size though Bo’s was. The neck-less rabbit sat upright, if with his limbs tucked in until he was little more than a pouting boulder (a truly apt metaphor) whose form altered only when a single ear sprung at Nick’s approach, just to lay flat again and so sag his broad physique.  Despite the fact there wasn’t much chance he even  _ could _ save Judy; Nick still felt a pang of guilt he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Standing near the still, quiet rabbit, the fox pondered how best to handle him when he noticed the picture trapping Bo’s attention (and set the sunglasses over his eyes to protect against the bright screen).  It was the two bunnies, Judy and Bo, she stretching her lips apart with an overbite that further exaggerated her buck teeth, eyes crossed and nose scrunched up;  _ his  _ eyes were rolled back and eyelids flipped, jaw slacked such that his tongue hung out the side.  One paw held the phone in a ridiculous selfie as the other paw pointed over his shoulder at a plaque:

“I have bested Judy Hopps

I’m stronger than Bo Briar

I stand amongst your crops

And against the Trier.”

Nick grunted disapprovingly but curiously after reading the plaque aloud, compelled to do so when Bo tilted the phone so that he might see it better.  “I’d’ve figured a much more…  _ heartfelt  _ image to pine over,” he observed and then squatted with his arms folded on his knees.

The statement dangled in the air as the phone was turned off (to which the fox perched the sunglasses atop his brow once more and the earthen rabbit leaned his cheek against a palm.  Bo kept his eyes cast away when he finally spoke and but it seemed he’d forgotten how to raise his voice to conversational levels. “When Judy and I started digging up rocks together, we decided to tackle this real  _ monster  _ of a thing over in an unused field near the rutabagas.  We dug and dug and dug  _ all day _ , even getting other bunnies to help, borrowing equipment, calling in favors… only to realize that it was like an  _ iceberg _ made of rock.  To get it out, we’d need to tear up not only  _ that _ field, but the surrounding fields, too.

“Judy had the idea that, if we dug  _ under _ the rock, we could at least drop it down far enough that it wasn’t sticking out as much, but to do that would be  _ so  _ expensive and dangerous, it wouldn’t be worth it.  We put all the dirt back and returned to the house, heads hung in shame, but the whole family agreed with us… that we did the right thing by letting it be.  It was only later we found out that some of Judy’s friends and siblings pitched in to get that plaque made. It was one of the few things that made her laugh those days,” and Bo spared a sad chuckle.  “I did anything and  _ everything _ I could to see her smile.  And… I know everyone thinks that  _ I’m _ ‘her rock’,” he wavered, to which Nick shuffled where he squatted as Bo’s voice weakened, “But without Judy… I’m not much more than a… a pile of  _ dirt _ .”

Nick leaned in and bumped his shoulder against Bo’s, “Hey, c’mon Punch, you’re more than that, and you know it.  You’re Judy’s  _ beau, _ ” he laughed, “Do you think she’d stay with you unless she felt like you were a… a big ol’  _ boulder _ of a bunny that she could rely on?  I mean, look at me, I was a slimy, two-faced hustler but she believed in me because there was something she saw that I didn’t.  Judy’s an amazing rabbit, we both know this, and we both know that she’ll come back to us, smelling like daisies.”

With a deadened sigh, Bo rubbed his wrist at the corner of his eye, “It’s okay, Nick, she already called me…”

“She  _ called _ you?” the fox exclaimed as quietly as he could, squeezing Bo cheeks together, “Punch, this is something you  _ lead _ a conversation with.  I can’t believe…” and then grabbed his shoulders, “She called  _ you _ ?”

“Yeah, she called  _ me _ !” Bo shot back, shrugging his paws off, “And you know what?  It felt like someone took the sun out of my sky!” He bit down his bottom lip as his chin trembled, “I didn’t mention the phone call because it wasn’t for  _ you _ , Nick, it was for  _ me _ .  She… she said…” and choked.

“ _ What _ , what did she say?” Nick urged.

“It’s none of your business,” Bo decided and shoved the fox away (to great effect), “it’s between  _ her _ and  _ I _ , no one else.”

Rising to his feet to brush himself off after such rough, undue treatment on the part of the rabbit, Nick scoffed, “I think it kind of  _ is _ my business after what happened last night…  No, wait, we were kidnapped this  _ morning _ ,” he corrected, considering how Esther described the timeline and would have continued had not a dark, humorless chuckle inclined his head.  “Something funny, Mr. Briar?”

“Just…  _ stop _ with the whole ‘kidnapping’ thing,” Bo sneered and got up to his feet for his own brushing off, “I know the four of you were together last night, and I’m  _ sure _ you thought up this grand…” he gesticulated clumsily, “ _ plot  _ to help cushion the blow, but it wasn’t funny when Gid started it and Judy already finished it up so… just  _ stop _ .”

Nick rubbed his palms against his face in attempts to quell a frustration-induced headache built with each word he had the misfortune to endure.  “What. Are. You.  _ Talking _ .  About?”

“Don’t play  _ dumb _ , Nick,” he warned and approached in a flash with a harsh jab to the fox’s chest that nearly knocked the wind of him.  It was clear that the corners of Bo’s eyes were not the driest they could be. “I am a grown  _ rabbit _ , and I don’t need  _ lies _ or  _ mind games _ , or whatever it is you  _ foxes _ do to avoid your problems.”  He then retreated a step to clench his fist and scrunch up his face with inner chastisement; turning away to brace the heel of said fist against his forehead, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, but…” and only shook his head in disquiet.

_ I’ll admit, I can’t remember the last time someone spelled it out like that…  _  “Punch,” Nick tried to explain but recoiled when the brown rabbit squatted to strike the ground, as his nickname might suggest.

“My name’s ‘Bo’,” he said coldly, and folded his elbows on either knee, “It rhymes with  _ ‘Go’ _ .”

“Look-”

“And  _ ‘No’ _ ,” he interrupted.  An ear sprung at the footstep approaching him, so he glared over his shoulder at the fox refusing to leave.  After a leaden hush, quivering as his muscles audibly flexed beneath his fur and then relaxed, he finally spoke, “I  _ trusted  _ you.  I thought of you as a pal, Nick.  Judy would go on and on about what a  _ great  _ partner and friend you were.  I respected you, felt like I knew you… but as soon as you come around you stab me in the back…”

“I didn’t-!”

“Life goes on, I guess,” he numbly admitted, and looked away again to stand up with a stretch of his arms and a crack of his neck.  “I don’t know  _ why  _ you did it-”

“I.   _ Didn’t _ .”

“But next time you see Judy-”

Nick muffled an exclamation of “For the love of!” with a yank of the bare shoulder to turn the rabbit around, and then yanked again in a grunt when his first attempt couldn’t so much as twist the broad torso, so he got both paws to grab in a third attempt when it seemed like Bo resisted without any effort at all, “C’mon, I’m going for dramatic effect here…”

Like a dervish, Bo whipped around to face Nick, glaring up at him with slow, straining heaves.  Nick caught his breath and reeled… and then flailed a bit as he stared horror-struck down at the rabbit.  He didn’t see it happen, but somehow a brown mitt held his neck like a vise, almost lifting him off the ground at arm’s length.  His own paws gripped the stony wrist for it was quite obvious to him that a  _ very  _ thin thread of mercy, indeed, was all that kept his air flowing.  “Bo…!” he gasped.

“You wanted ‘dramatic’, right?” he scowled, his entire body quaking as tears formed at last in the corners of his eyes.

“I can see you’re upset…”

“You don’t shut up, do you?”

“But if you could release me…”

“Why…?”

“Well, I’m a huge fan of breathing…”

“ _ Why _ did you do it?” he demanded, his cheeks wet around his clenched jaw, “Was it for a laugh?  You, and the rest of the world having a good laugh at Bo Briar, making me think that someone… that  _ anyone _ could ever…”  And he shook violently, but to his credit, controlled the strength of his grip around Nick’s neck to not completely cut off his air supply.  “Judy never…  _ never _ looked at me with pity… or shame… or like I was already  _ dead _ …” Bo rasped, but by the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes, was possibly unaware he that he said it  _ aloud _ .  The fox dropped gracelessly onto his tail when he was released as the rabbit collapsed to his knees in a heap, those digger’s paws balling fistfuls of grass and earth.

Nick heaved and scurried back until he was well beyond grabbing distance, sitting up and rubbing his neck as he looked with understandably rapt confusion at Bo, “So… I’ll catalog this under ‘bunny things’, then…?”

“Just stop…  _ please _ ,” he sobbed, and sat back to curl up into a boulder to once more face away from Nick, paws at the back of his hanging skull, “Please, just… go…”

_ You know what, that actually sounds like the smart thing to do.  I’ll leave for a bit, you’ll still be here crying, quietly I hope, and then when we finish this whole thing with the Night Howler, I can come back and- _

“But… when you see her again, tell Judy I’ll always love her.  I probably won’t have the chance to, now…” Bo finally managed to say, his voice heavy with what Nick could only recognize as some kind of guilt.

_ Whole milk fudge, what am I supposed to do with that! _ Nick internally screamed,  _ If I walked away now, Judy would pop in from out of nowhere and lecture me about his feelings, only to  _ spite  _ me by jumping back into wherever she was kidnapped from. _  He glared at the still crying, hiccupping rabbit -- even though he was much quieter -- and pantomimed a tantrum.  After a long breath, Nick studied Bo’s form… and paid heed to the brewing consideration of what Judy extrapolated on their acrobatic antics.  Holding up his paws as though to frame him  _ just _ right… with a nimble pounce, he alighted on the rabbit’s shoulders.  As he hoped, it was like hopping onto a carousel ride and with about as much response to the fox’s weight, but it, at least, stopped the sobbing.

“Umm…  _ excuse _ you?” the confused rabbit asked, his ears flicking as he didn’t bother to glance up at Nick, only lifting his head far enough to stare harder at the opposite, plain white wall of the empty tent.

The fox cooed and hushed him with long, gentle strokes of the short (by rabbit standards) ears, “Now that I have your attention, I would like to preface what I’m about to say with a  _ very _ simple, irrefutable fact of life,” and removed the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses from his own brow to carefully slide them into place over Bo’s eyes; after all, he earned them on Saturday with his own brand of cleverness, “Foxes  _ don’t  _ lie to -- or keep secrets  _ from  _ \-- each other.

“That said, Judy  _ is  _ in danger, and your phone call is  _ the _ solitary clue on where to find her.  It will require  _ all  _ of my cunning, tricks, and fox magic to figure it out, but that’s where you,  _ Punch _ , come in to fill such a crucial role,” with a quick pat of his noggin, and recalling something slipped by the leader of the Burrow Watch,  _ Which might very well be Bo’s fellow members of the Hexward congregation _ , Nick continued, “Historically speaking, a fox’s head is lucky because it repels curses and all the misfortune they incur, which you, as a buff history buff,  _ should  _ know all about,” he said matter-of-factly.  His paws squishing tear-soaked cheeks together, “And it’s quite obvious to me that  _ yours  _ is still secured to your ne-‘eh…  _ shoulders _ .  Ergo, you have all the luck you need to save Judy; QED.

“Now, we must  _ combine _ our minds on this (that’s why I’m sitting up here) to figure out a few things: number one, why did she call  _ you _ , and number two,  _ why _ was she allowed to call?  I need you to remember as much as you can about  _ what _ she said.  Think back to any phrases that were either  _ important _ to you or didn’t make  _ sense _ .  Can you do that?” Nick inquired while massaging Bo’s scalp with exaggeration.

“Why should I believe you?” Bo asked (or is what Nick  _ assumed _ he said, at least, it was hard to hear him through the restrained sobs and sniffling of he who was, perhaps, desperate for someone to disprove his darkest dread).

“Quite frankly, whether you believe me or not is irrelevant,” Nick conversed, and swayed his dangling legs as if he sat on the edge of a pier (even touchingh is toes to the grass a bit), “I’m here to save Judy’s life, so I need the information you have in your brain about what she said in that call.  Thing is, I don’t have the time, resources, or patience to interrogate you, and I’d really rather not anyway because you are a  _ surprisingly _ comfortable mount; so I’d appreciate you being a jolly good sport about it and at least play along, if you’re not going to be directly helpful.  With that out of the way, let’s get back to being  _ awfully _ clever foxes and save our beloved Judy Hopps.  Alright?”

Bo nodded stiffly and cleared his sinuses, concentrated, bit back a quick cough, but then shook his head, “It was from an unknown number, but other than that, nothing’s jumping out at me except ‘Rutabaga Rock’ -- that’s what we called it because it was out near the Rutabagas.  I’m sorry, Gloves…”

“That’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll handle this one step at a time,” and clapped a fist into his palm, “Actually, that’s an excellent idea.  Pacing always helped me and Judy-”

“‘Judy and I’,” the rabbit corrected sadly, offhandedly.

Nick smirked, and enunciated, “ _ ‘Judy and I’  _ figure out tough problems.  So,  _ hup hup _ , on both feet with you,” he said with a rising gesture.

“Don’t you want to get off, first?”

“Of course not, this is an optimal thinking position,” Nick explained, bracing himself as Bo staggered to stand and held out his paws for balance, shoulders squared as he secured the dark-furred feet resting on his chest, “Alright, now start walking around the tent.”

“But I can barely see with these sunglasses on?”

“You worry too much.  Simply walk forward and I shall guide you with these exceptionally long ears you have,” he instructed, and idly fiddled with the tips, even smiling as he heard a responding, marginally jovial chuckle, “We’ll use them as levers, left ear to left foot, and so on.”

“Alternate ears for direction and movement, strafe with both ears, and pull apart to pick something up,” he instructed, and then added bashfully, “That’s what Juju does, anyway.”

_ Oh, if only I could get that on camera… no one at the precinct would believe me otherwise,  _ and tested out the steering to find that Bo was aptly responsive (if his own operations a bit clunky), and so proceeded to drive around the tent (with his tail arched to keep it from dragging), “First, we’ll clear the air and your head: what’s this about some ‘grand plot’ to break up you and Judy?”

The rabbit cringed.  “It seems so stupid thinking about it now.”

“You were emotional, and we need to purge that from your system before we can get our  _ sly _ on.”

The rabbit groaned.

“At your own speed, but let’s be quick about it.”

“I… I love Judy, more than I can even put into words… but I love her enough to-” and swallowed back the lump in his throat, “to let her go, too…  I was willing to accept that she didn’t want to be with me, I’m not exactly cream-of-the-crop… I always told myself that if she ever decided to… to end it, that I wouldn’t make a fuss, I’ll take what I had coming to me.  And I knew it would hurt, it  _ did  _ hurt, it hurt like the  _ dickens _ , especially because I didn’t know what I did!  Was she dropping hints all this time but I never realized it?”  His pace faltered, “And then you and Gid said she was ‘kidnapped’, except I  _ just _ heard from her, and she didn’t  _ sound _ kidnapped.”

Bo paused to sigh, as though he were to confess a truly grievous transgression, “What hurt more than anything at all was that I thought Judy was in on some big joke against me…” and then he glanced up for the first time the sunglasses were put on his face, over their glow-in-the-dark rims to gaze at Nick, who craned his neck in turn.  “I couldn’t figure which was worse… whether  _ you  _ put her up to it or if  _ she _ was behind it all…  And I just… couldn’t think straight…  I’m sorry… so,  _ so _ sorry for attacking you, Nick…  I don’t expect you to forgive me, but please don’t tell Judy,” he requested, “I want her to hear it from  _ me _ .”

_Huh… if I had a nickel from everyone that threatened my life… I’d be able to pay for a statue of the one mammal that actually apologized for it._  An easy grin crossed Nick’s face, “You know, for someone who ‘couldn’t think straight’, you showed quite a lot of self-control by not crushing my larynx like a juice box.  I’d hate to see you when you _really_ pop your top.”

“You… you’re not upset?”

“For…?”

“I tried to  _ kill _ you…!”

“Seeing as how I’m still alive, I’d say it you  _ should’ve _ tried harder.”

Bo stared in abject bewilderment, and as his cognitive gears gradually ‘clicked’ into place, his face softened, “Is this… bantering?”

“Gold star, Punch; there’s hope for you yet.”

“I’m not used to teasing being a  _ good _ thing…”

“Think of it as… sparring for the brain.”

The rabbit glanced down in boyish wonder, “Huh…”

“I didn’t think I’d be having this conversation with another adult, but what kind of ‘teasing’ do you endure, exactly?”

“Like you said yesterday, some bullies don’t ever leave the playground, and it might not look it but bunnies  _ can  _ be as mean as other mammals, especially to other bunnies,” Bo grumbled, “Grav wasn’t the only one, he was just the worst.”

Nick took a moment to consider the rabbit under him, “It occurs to me that the whole ‘Bo Branches’ thing would’ve ended when you swelled three sizes, which  _ itself _ should be a deterrent to continued mockery.”

“That’s not the reason…”

“Don’t leave a fellow fox hanging, Punch.”

“There are… some bunnies that might imply I shouldn’t be with Judy.”

Nick moaned airily in realization, “Ah  _ yes _ , the most suitable bachelorette in the burrow, of  _ course _ …” he said with dramatic flair, “Well, jealousy is what it is.”

The rabbit grunted and kept walking.  “Gloves… it’s because I’m  _ cursed _ .”

A bland frown was what answered, “I’m sorry, ‘cursed’... as in, ‘of the Pharabbit’?”

“ _ No _ ,” Bo scoffed, “it’s a blood disorder; I break down muscle faster than I can build it up.  We talked about it at lunch yesterday?”

“Yes, I recall lunch yesterday, but let’s assume I don’t know about this quote/unquote ‘curse’.”

“Oh… it’s… well, it’s a rare blood disorder called  _ muscular hyperatrophy _ , but its other name is the ‘bunny curse’.  Bunnies that have it…” he grunted and shrugged, “they don’t live long, and if they  _ do _ , they’re frail, bedridden, and eventually they…” he shuddered but kept on walking at the steering of his ears, “they could very well suffocate under the weight of their own ribcage.  Since there’s no treatment for it, it’s considered a ‘curse’.”

The fox was silent a full beat.  “So, you’re ostracized because of something you were born as, I mean,  _ with _ ?”

“It… it’s not as simple as that.  The bunny community isn’t  _ afraid _ of me or anything, but when you know that your death will be agony not only for  _ yourself _ but for everyone who knows and cares about you…” and cleared his throat harshly.  “Well, when it comes to  _ Judy _ … umm… let’s just say that fellow bunnies would rather her  _ not _ be with someone that has an untreatable,” and then his ears burned hot in Nick’s grip, “ _ genetic _ , blood disorder…”

“If this is too sensitive a topic…”

Bo grunted his denial, “The only ‘sensitive’ thing about it is how it’s perceived.  I studied the history of the disorder, and since it  _ is  _ genetic -- like hemophilia -- it can really only be managed.  Any ‘cursed’ lucky enough to get to my age are so deteriorated that they look skeletal… which probably didn’t help with the whole…  _ curse _ thing.”

Nick prodded over Bo’s flagrantly muscular frame, “Then this is  _ very _ realistic styrofoam, and I simply  _ must _ get the name of your costumer.”

Quiet giggles responded to the ticklish prods, “No, that’s all me.”

“ _ How _ , exactly?  With everything I’ve been hearing,  _ you _ should be on  _ my _ shoulders, and I’m half-a-step up from a beanpole.”

“Used to be you could tie me to a bed sheet and fly me like a kite,” Bo snickered, “When I found out about my condition, I figured that was it for me.  I bounced around from farm to farm during grade school, after which I went to live at Hares’ Bluff. They were a bit more… accepting of ‘cursed’ rabbits, I guess…”

Nick thought back to when he and Gideon first drove to the Hopps Family Farm on that Saturday morning, and how he tried to cram as much information about bunnies and their burrows as he could from the Woolipedia page.  It wasn’t even on his mind at all, not with everything else happening, but he did remember there was  _ something  _ between the hares and the rabbits, and couldn’t help but wonder if  _ that  _ was involved.

“Well, they encouraged me to not give up,” Bo continued, “and after I found out about how Captain Warren was a scrawny little rabbit just like me, I decided to follow in his footsteps and try to pack on as much muscle as I could before my own body ate it all.  Eventually, I went through my growth spurt and just kinda… kept going. Went to college looking for answers on the ‘bunny curse’, and tried to figure out the best diet to combat it, which like Judy said, kinda led to my little… ‘obsession’ with finding a way to safely and affordably get more protein into a rabbit’s diet.”

“Ah yes, the ‘dirt and paint thinner’ formula.”

Bo chuckled awkwardly, “Yeah, that’s my attempt to hit the sweet spot; too little won’t matter, too much just gets flushed out,” to which he sighed a mighty sigh and begrudgingly continued at a curious, insisting grunt, “All mammals can get  _ muscular hyperatrophy _ ; predators and large prey don’t notice because they can eat all the protein they need, while smaller prey don’t burn enough muscle for it to matter.  Even hares are  _ just _ big enough to not die from attrition, but  _ bunnies _ with the disorder, no matter their age or weight, will always use a razor’s edge more muscle than they have the stomach size to digest through normal means.  I found something that  _ would _ work if it were palatable… or ingestible.”

_ How frightfully boring, but you know, I wonder if…  _ “Foxes don’t have that issue, of course.”

“Umm…  _ predators _ don’t have that issue.”

“I mean because it’s a  _ curse _ , which a fox’s head repels, as you know.”

“According to lore, at least,” Bo agreed in further awkwardness.

“Sadly, it only  _ repels _ curses, and I don’t know what to do about long-standing ones.”

“Gloves, you know it’s not  _ really _ a curse,” the rabbit scoffed a chuckle.

“Sure, we as  _ adults _ know that…” he trailed off.

“Uhh…?”  Bo stopped with a telltale wiggle of his nose.

“There’s no shame in it, it happens with all sorts of mammals, one way or another,” Nick dismissed, idly moving the paler ears about but to no response from his vehicular bunny, “I’m sure a young rabbit steeped in the Hexward Tenets knew  _ all about  _ curses and foxes, and with the way rabbits already reacted to… well, if you  _ were _ one, you could at least hang out with that  _ other _ fox that seemed to have such control over the playground.”

“I mean… that is to say…” Bo laughed, coughed, and cleared his throat in quick succession as marked by a worrying shrug of his shoulders.

_Let’s reel this in,_ Nick smirked, “Of course, bunnies that bully other bunnies wouldn’t if there were a fox or adults around.  They’d wait until they were far enough away that no one could _call_ for help,” and batted at the rabbit’s back with his tail at the point of emphasis.

“No, no I suppose they wouldn’t,” Bo readily complied, eager to end the conversation.

“Somewhere they could get away with it, like behind a huge  _ rock _ where they couldn’t be seen, or off in the fields amongst the carrots, the celery, or the  _ rutabagas _ ,” with two more swipes of the tail, one for each emphasis.

“Yes, yes I suppose they would,” Bo readily complied, eager to end the conversation.

“And certainly  _ Judy _ wouldn’t mind another fox, she almost  _ said _ so herself,” and another two soft smacks, for good measure.

“No, I mean, yes?  I mean, I wouldn’t know…  _ exactly _ what she…?”

“What was it Judy said in the call about Rutabaga Rock?” the fox wondered aloud, and with it came a final, swift bushwhack.

“She said, ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think we can see each other anymore.  I know we’ve been on the fence about this, but it’s for the best. Just remember Rutabaga Rock, okay?’,” he recited in a hurry before holding his breath.  His ears then pointed skyward as Nick dismounted in supreme smugness. “You…!  _ How _ did you…?” the rabbit, as well, wondered aloud, setting the novelty eyewear on his brow to reveal dumbfounded hazel eyes.

_ I tricked you into using your brain _ , “Fox secret, very advanced stuff, I’ll teach it to you later,” and then rubbed his chin in thought,  _ Alright, I have the clue, but what does it mean…  _ “Now, follow me and repeat back the last thing I say as if you’re challenging my authority.”

Still a little confused, but curious, “What ‘authority’ is this, exactly?” Bo sincerely asked.

“Yes,  _ perfect _ , just like that,” Nick commended and with a sweep of his tail, began his pacing.  “First and foremost, Judy’s captors -- whoever they are -- want her comfortable and safe…”

“How d’you figu-, I mean, ‘comfortable and safe’?”

The fox grinned, “Because they allowed her such a seemingly trivial phone call, a phone call which, when you heard it, did not send you  _ flying _ out to either me or Gideon about Judy’s proof-of-life, but rather  _ convinced _ you of its face value.  That tells me she didn’t sound distressed, pained, or even  _ bored _ .”

“Or ‘kidnapped’, right?”

“Right.   _ My _ captors knew how to catch a fox -- no menial feat, mind you, we are wily creatures and don’t take kindly to incarceration -- so I’d bet my tail  _ Judy’s _ captors know how to contain her.  I’ll admit, we’ve only been acquainted for about two years, and I have my theories on how one might keep Judy in line, but as someone who knew her as a kid-”

“Ki _ t _ ,” corrected Bo with an enunciated click of the ‘t’.

“Come again?”

“Young rabbits, like young foxes, are called ‘kits’,” he explained.

“…Okay, whatever, my point  _ is _ , you would know better than I what sort of… I don’t know, what her moral compass wouldn’t let her do.  The best I can figure is she wouldn’t draw attention to herself, but that’s a very  _ fox _ way of thinking, and maybe she would need to be a bit more…  _ bunny _ -like right now?”

“Well… a bunny still wouldn’t want to draw attention to themselves…  _ our _ selves, I mean.  And while it comes with the size category, we’re a very…  _ amiable  _ sort of folk, not big on making waves,” and then smiled despite himself, “Well, except for Judy, of course… she makes  _ amiable _ waves.”

To which Nick jumped on the opportunity to prove himself right, even if the one he disagreed with wasn’t present, “Which is why there aren’t any alpha foxes… or alpha bunnies, for that matter,” he added in a scholarly manner, even stopping to do so.

“ _ Exactly _ .  Even though there are ‘patriarchs’ and ‘matriarchs’ of bunny families, we don’t have ‘alphas’ as larger mammals do.  It’s actually one of the things we have in common,” he grinned and flicked a finger between him and Nick, “You know, I remember one of my zoological classes went into the differences between rabbits and foxes-”

“That sounds wonderfully unbiased,” Nick then said dully over his shoulder.

“Well…” Bo groaned, “the assigned reading wasn’t  _ really  _ the most…” and politely cleared his throat, “Anyway, after a bit of my own digging, it turns out we  _ both  _ have a knack for avoiding danger, except foxes seek safety in transience while  _ rabbits _ find it in community; that’s why  _ we _ have such large families but fox families are usually smaller and scarcer.”

Nick raised a finger to snark, but then tapped his chin with it, “Most of Judy’s time off  _ does _ go to visiting her family, so if anything  _ could _ act as a deep-seated mitigation, it’d be that,” and snapped his fingers to whip around in full,  _ Of course, Mr. Barley and the Bunny Brigade, he mentioned Judy’s circumstances as more than a barb, didn’t he _ .  “She’s being held by other rabbits; which gives her the  _ keen _ advantage that they won’t expect anything fox-like out of her,” and smirked, “I’d say they even put her in a gilded cage.”

“Why a gilded cage?”

“Time for some street smarts, college boy,” Nick grinned, “The single thread of commonality between species is that each will treat their  _ own _ differently than they will treat a member of  _ another _ species; it’s hardwired into us for survival.”

“Which I already knew,” Bo pointed out.

Nick continued unhindered, “Now, this does  _ not  _ lead to favoritism when it comes to Judy’s capture, it simply means that she is expected to act a certain way or else be put in worse conditions, and she is expected to act as the paragon of truth, justice, and mercy that everyone sees her as.  Ergo: gilded cage. Judy will milk such a situation, I have no doubt, and even though she’s likely not restrained, she’ll be monitored around-the-clock. Anything and everything she does  _ will _ be taken into consideration, so any escape attempts are either nixed or a one-shot deal; the same goes for conveying messages.”

“Like, a  _ secret _ message?”

“Quite so, my dear Briar,” Nick added with flair and proceeded to pace around Bo, “When Judy and I are on covert-ops in the ZPD we use code to communicate.  It was a shot in the dark, but that sly bunny must have figured her best chance to get  _ me _ a message was if it were overheard giving it to  _ you _ ,” and he gestured boisterously, “And when better than right before the pie-eating contest, which she  _ knew  _ had the highest likelihood of getting us in the same place at the same time, provided I gave my own captors the slip.  Judy would have had all morning to think about  _ exactly _ what she wanted to say and how she wanted to say it,” and then quirked a brow as the rabbit grew a tad forlorn, “Maybe she was a bit  _ too _ convincing.  Anyway, in that phone call, ‘I’m sorry,  _ dot dot dot _ , but it’s for the best’ means to  _ me _ ‘Pay attention, Slick, this is important’.”

Bo’s ears went up like sails in a tailwind.

“That’s not all.  She also said ‘I know we’ve been on the fence about this’, and while I’m not the first fox you go to on relationship advice, even  _ I _ could tell that breaking up with you was  _ not _ on her mind last night, but more to the point, Judy Hopps doesn’t drop heavy stuff like that unless it’s face-to-face.”

His long ears went pink again as he scratched his smiling cheek, “She’s always been very honest about how she felt…  But now that you mention it, there  _ was  _ this one time Judy and I repaired a fence on the border of her family’s farm, and that day kind of stands out for us, so maybe she’s referring to it?”

_ Unless…  _ “That was  _ likely _ meant to bring attention to when we shot the breeze on a fence last night; it was quite the conversation.  But…  _ why _ was it important?” he thought aloud, but to the rabbit’s shaking head and shrugging shoulders, Nick scratched his neck, “Perhaps because of the statement preceding it, ‘I don’t think we can see each other anymore’.  Judy  _ would _ have said, ‘I don’t think we  _ should _ see each other anymore’; it’s more grammatically accurate, wouldn’t you say?”

“Okay,  _ that  _ didn’t make sense to me, but I’ll be honest, the entire thing had me buggered…”

“Fair enough, you weren’t expecting cloak-and-dagger  _ today _ , but be sure to keep an ear out for it in the future,” and gave a teasing waggle of his finger.  “The fence in question is outside Gideon’s house, so what  _ can’t  _ be seen from there?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never been, so I don’t know, but I’d bet my lucky foot it’s a hefty list,” Bo admitted, and then snapped his own fingers after a gasp, “Rutabaga Rock!  It’s… umm… about a quarter-mile from the Hopps farmhouse, but… it’s mostly open fields, so not a lot of places to hide a ‘gilded cage’, is there?”

_ ‘Unless 2: Return of the What If’… _ Nick pondered, “Let me see that photo again.”  Hastily, the rabbit pulled out his phone and brought it up… and then turned down the brightness to not blind the fox as he studied the picture.

“‘I stand amongst your crops // And against the Trier’...” read the rabbit, “D’you think that’s what she was trying to tell us?”

A fox ear flicked in doubt, “I remember she mentioned ‘Briar the Trier’ last night, rabbit that screamed to death as a warning to young bunnies,” he said dully, and as Bo shifted awkwardly he cleared his throat to continue, recalling the bit about how “the whole world” played a joke on him and his feelings thereof, “Probably  _ not _ , and she wouldn’t be so vague-”

“Ambiguous.”

“ _ Ambiguous _ as to reference a mocking verse trying too hard to rhyme-” and paused to grunt and clap himself on the forehead.  “Punch, please enlighten me on the food processing plant run by Magnus Hopps…”

Operating on the assumption that Nick knew what he was talking about, Bo hummed and complied, “Well, it’s one of the biggest plants in the city and they concentrate the  _ bejeezus _ out of their so-called ‘farm fresh foods’, but I digress.  It and Hexward Pharmaceuticals are the two economic pillars for the burrow of Knotash,” to which the bunny chimed, “and paragons of clean energy.”

“And  _ where  _ did ‘Briar the Trier’ originate?”

“ _ Uhh… _ ” Bo considered, “Those stories aren’t much older than I am, but… I’m pretty sure they’re  _ also _ from Knotash.”

“We -- Jude, Gid, and I -- learned last night that Magnus stayed in Bunnyburrow several years ago to ‘get back to his roots’, and supposedly went the extra mile to use its fresh crops,” the fox said as he then recalled their conversation looking out on the quiet countryside to admire the distant glare of the hidden metropolis.  He also recalled one of the few times he ever quoted poetry and so deciphered the presumed “Dear John” message,  _ Find me where we cannot see each other when we were at the fence _ , “Judy’s in the city… she’s in the Knotash burrow of Zootopia.”

“She’s  _ in _ Knotash?” he asked incredulously while pocketing his phone.

“Good, keep at it, there’s still more thinking to do,” Nick offhandedly said with an equally offhanded smile as he returned to pacing, “So, her captor is somebunny with the resources to transport and hold Judy from Bunnyburrow to the city in scant hours, which considering Magnus is bankrolling this whole thing isn’t  _ too _ far a stretch, but even so, who would he  _ allow _ to use…?” and then gestured over his shoulder at Bo and was promptly bumped into after the sudden brake, “Of  _ course _ … the same bunny who not only knew her as a kit but would enjoy nothing more than hearing her break up with  _ you _ … If she called anyone else for any other reason, he would have  _ never _ given her a phone.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bo groaned, “they let  _ him  _ out?”

“Magnus, the influential rabbit that he is, must’ve paid bail on the promise that he’d be shipped back home to think about what he did, and likely enough smuggled out a tranqed Judy in the process.”  Nick then about-faced to grin, “You should’ve been there at the sheriff’s office, Punch, I’ve never seen her stand so tall… If this goes the way I think it will, he’ll succumb to arrogance and face her one-on-one: no goons, no holding cell, no  _ rules _ …  Honestly, I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for poor Grav Hopps.”

Bo wrung his paws and popped his knuckles with an ominous doubt, “It must be the first time I heard from Judy while she’s  _ on _ a case like this… usually, she tells me what she can  _ afterward _ .  I know I’m the boyfriend of a cop and  _ every day _ will be a question if she comes home… but… I also know that if anyone is awesome enough to get out of a bind like  _ this _ , it’s her.”

“Oh, it goes deeper than that,” the fox said matter-of-factly, “The  _ most _ enviable feat of Judy Hopps is not her survivability, but that she turns adversaries into  _ assets _ ,” Nick then smirked as sly a smirk as he dared, “and Grav will  _ endeavor _ to be her greatest adversary.”

The brown-furred face brightened, but like a low-voltage bulb in a high-voltage lamp, he did not brighten so far that he might burn out again.  “Gloves, I’m afraid I’m a bit conflicted right now… I don’t know if I should be happy or sad that Judy really  _ was _ kidnapped, even if it means she might still want to be with me… I’d rather she be  _ safe _ …”

Nick put both paws to his hips, “Okay, time to sly up and fox right: your loved one  _ will _ come back to you because she loves you, you love her, and she is exceptionally clever.  For the time being, you need to keep your chin up, head down, eyes forward, tail back, and do what it is  _ you _ need to do to make sure that when she returns (not ‘if’, but  _ ‘when’ _ ), it’s to somewhere  _ better _ than when she left in the first place.   _ That _ is how we foxes deal with our problems.”

With a flinch and a frown, Bo straightened up and seemed to nod in confusion about where his head was supposed to be, “Am… I allowed to be both happy  _ and _ sad right now?”

“Of course you’re allowed to feel more than one emotion at once,” Nick scoffed, and with a pivot gave his protégé a swift bushwhack to the haunches to usher him along, “Now, I need to make a few phone calls myself, while  _ you _ need to head out front and check on the pie-eating contestants.  You’ve had your cry, so it’s time to get back to work.”

“Y-yessir!”  The rabbit scampered, though glad, it seemed, for the opportunity to be helpful.

“Oh,” Nick said to stop Bo in his tracks, “Be sure to get Lanny another tray of pies and some whipped cream;  _ non _ -toxic, if you please.”

“On it!”

“And one last thing,” Nick said to stop Bo in his tracks again, “Can I borrow your sunglasses?  I need them for my disguise.” They exchanged a grin, and the rabbit happily pulled the glow-in-the-dark eyewear from his head to reverently fold the arms and then carefully toss them over, before slipping back under the tent wall.  Nick caught the sunglasses with one paw to flick them open and secure them atop his head once more as he pulled out his phone.

_ Not bad, Nicholas Wilde, not bad at all _ , he mused, and pressed the home button on his phone to activate its lock screen,  _ Wow, Benny really called me an awful lot, didn’t he… so did Mom and Dad… separately, even.  Did Bogo let them know? I haven’t been missing for twenty-four hours, yet, so maybe he didn’t… Still, I’ll call them too; she’s probably worried sick that I haven’t picked up. _  His thumbs typed out the passcode, bracing himself for the gut-wrenching imagery that surely remained on his phone since he last looked at it: Gideon’s pred-therapy photos.  There weren’t many, but two videos were also included that he knew he would need to look at eventually,  _ Not right now, though, and hopefully not soon. _  He pulled up his contacts and scrolled until he found “Chief Buffalobutt” (whose profile image was, in fact, a set of uniform-clad haunches unknowingly caught in the act of dancing).

The red, fluffy tail patiently swayed with one paw in his pocket as he listened to the ringing across the line.  It usually took a while, since any call made to or from his phone bounced off a few cell towers before reaching its destination (by design, of course; courtesy of Finnick).

“Wilde?” came the rich baritone of ever-lurking disapproval.

“Sir,” responded uncharacteristic formality, paws cupping his mouth to the phone.

“Hopps?” he inquired after a full beat.

“Still MIA, but I have reason to believe that she is being held in Knotash, by Magnus Hopps.”

“That’s a big name in a tight community, Wilde.”

“No need to break any rules, only get someone to watch the exits, she’ll likely need a pick-up; pink shirt, faded blue jeans, that’s the last thing I saw her wearing.”

The Cape buffalo softly grumbled, “I’ll send some plain-clothes to keep an eye out.  If she doesn’t show by o-four-hundred, I’ll expect you to have evidence for the search warrant.”

“Have I  _ ever _ let you down?” the fox assured, to which nostrils huffed an answer such that their gush of hot air was almost felt through the phone.  “…Concerning Judy, I mean,” Nick clarified to a conceding grunt. “By the way, you’ll be happy to know that the Gravedigger is pinned down in Preds’ Corner by a flood of unexpected visitors.  Be sure to tell Sheriff Longmare that he’ll be in a tall building with line-of-sight of the furthest of the nearby farms.”

It almost sounded like Bogo was about to offer a commendation but the disapproval surfaced, instead, “I heard from Sheriff Longmare that they found Ms. Grey, but not  _ you _ ,” he accused, “Care to explain yourself?”

_ Hoo boy, here we go, _ and switched the phone from one ear to the other, “I… might’ve ducked out the back to hitch a ride to the TBR, possibly saving innocent civilians,” and quickly added to dissuade the audibly swelling frustration, “I would like to point out that  _ doing _ so lead me to uncover Judy’s whereabouts.”  He held his breath as begrudging acceptance came through on the other end of the call since -- yet again -- the fox’s craziness managed to somehow work out.   _ Somehow _ .

“I will expect a full,  _ detailed _ report when you get back, Wilde.”

“In triplicate, sir.”

“By  _ you _ , not Hopps;  _ you _ .”

“Why  _ me _ ?  Judy fills out reports  _ so _ much better-” another hot blast of nostril-huff cut him off, to which Nick groaned, “ _ Fine _ , I’ll do the report.”

“In triplicate.”

“Okay,  _ Dad _ .  And be sure to tell Benny I’m alright, you know how he stress-fasts,” and hung up the phone with a swift flick of his thumb to return to his contacts,  _ And now to call Dad _ .  A momentary glance to the tent wall was spared to check if anyone was trying to get his attention, so Nick felt comfortable leaving the pie-eating contest in the capable paws of Gideon, Bo, and Lanny… and then mused on the irony that he should have been warier of the rabbit than he was of the lion.

He felt tight when the phone continued to ring and a relief when it was finally picked up.  The voice on the other side was both mischievous and wise, and hearing it brought back memories from not only the reuniting Friday but the years of a kit he cherished as a fox.  “Nicky, there you are,” John said, who long since mastered the  _ sound _ of smiling.

“Hey Dad, sorry I missed your call.  Did something burn down?”

“Not yet, but the week’s still young,” and then continued lower, “I can’t help but notice you’re whispering.”

“Oh, I had to step away for this call, but I wanted to see what you were up to.”

“Well, I was thumbing through some designs for your suit and I wanted your input on either peaked or notched lapels.  The notch is more your pace, but the peak is a bit more your style,” the older fox pondered as he chewed on what was probably his writing implement.

_ The eternal question for the suited fox, _ Nick hummed, glad for something a little less life-threatening to unwind his brain on, “Actually, shawl might be interesting…”

“ _ Shawl _ ,” John snorted derisively.

“What, shawl lapels are  _ c’est chic _ .”

“Kit, I  _ will _ disown you.”

“Mom would skin you alive,” Nick countered.

A discomforted grunt answered from the other side of the call, “Your  _ next _ suit can have shawl lapels.  And no family discount.”

“Fantastic, in that case, let’s go with the notched this time around.”

“Good choice,” the paternal voice smiled again, “I already settled on notched, but I wanted to make sure you were on the same page.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Yeah, Nickster?”

_ Me and my ragtag group were kidnapped by the deadliest assassin of all time, because one of the driving powers of the most populous community in the city wants us dead for foiling his evil scheme, and I found the missing half of our family that’s been absent from our lives for over thirty years, _ “Give Mom a kiss for me.”

“Gladly.”

“Like, on the cheek.”

“ _ Boring _ .”

“Kiss her wherever you want afterward, but the first kiss is from me, and it’s on her  _ cheek _ ; by which I mean her  _ face _ .”

“Jeez, suck the fun out of everything, why don’t you.”

Nick chuckled, “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, Nicky; stay safe.”

_ Not the best track record so far,  _ “No promises,” he grinned and ended the call.   _ Didn’t think he was already on the lapels.  Obviously, he doesn’t know I was kidnapped, so something else must’ve set fire to his tail to focus so much on my suit _ , Nick worried as he read and re-read the matching entries for his parents: “The Real Mr. Foxglove” and “The Real Mrs. Foxglove”.  Following lunch and an enjoyable afternoon on Friday, the Wildes unanimously agreed that secrets were kept too long between them, and when Nick returned from Bunnyburrow, they would have something of a… fox family meeting.  He’d found (well, tripped over) Mom’s side of the family, something she was always secretive about, not even Dad knew, but maybe that comes with being the offspring of an infamous pirate. If  _ Mom _ had such a thing to hide, maybe Dad was worried about his own, deep secrets coming to light…  _ Like father, like son, I guess, _ Nick pined.

To cheer himself up, he inched along his contacts list to his entry for Judy: “The Reason Why”.  He wondered what would happen if he called her number, who would pick up, what he would say to someone that might stand between him and Judy as he razed the city to the ground to get her back again… and dreaded the third-degree she’d give him for razing the city to the ground on her behalf… and so tucked his phone away.  Dropping the sunglasses back onto his face, Nick so too dropped into his farm-fox demeanor to continue his monumental duty of ensuring her return was better than her departure.

* * *

Several minutes ago, Judy ended her phone call by snapping the flip-phone shut.  She sat upon a chair cushioned with evergreen velvet, its handcrafted cherry wood intricately designed in the fashion of a late baroque period; with one leg languidly crossed over the other, she gazed into the posh, matching vanity before her and held the mobile device up, over her shoulder to the butterscotch rabbit looming thereabouts.  The room was small and cozy, but the wide windows and double doors leading to a bright balcony made it feel spacious, doubly so since it was all for her; perhaps a bit much for a farm-bunny accustomed to bedrooms shared by at least three or four sisters at a time, but midday sun filled the remaining room with ambient light and warmth… were it not Grav’s presence alone draining it, as would a black hole.

“And here I thought the day was wasted,” he leered in his false cordiality, plucking the phone from her up-stretched palm to, in turn, hand it off to the male black-suited guard standing adjacent, “That was delightfully…  _ efficient  _ of you.”

Her purple eyes did not leave the mirror or the identical face gazing back at her, “I don’t like to leave loose ends,” Judy said simply, professionally, and glanced down to pluck a single speck of lint from the salmon, silken blouse tastefully loose around her torso, and brush off the knee of the subdued sapphire capris comfortably snug about her legs.  Unlike her companions, she was rested, fed, and washed since her capture early that morning, but was no freer than they.

When he straightened the collar of his maroon polo shirt with a four-leafed clover at the chest (one of the leaves curiously split down the middle with the stroke of a permanent marker), he arched his eyebrows expectantly, “Perhaps you’ve accepted my invitation for dinner, then,” he insinuated and -- what little Judy could garner from his absence of basic emotion -- hoped.

She leaned on the arm of the chair, cheek in her palm, “But I haven’t a dress to wear…”

“Easily remedied, there are  _ wardrobes _ filled with dresses to choose from,” he dismissed jovially, emptily.  Bracing his paws on either side of the chair’s back to lean in, Grav whispered, “Remember, Judy, you are a  _ guest _ here, not a prisoner, so feel free to partake of the manor.  The library, the garden, the gallery… a guided tour… all you need do is  _ ask _ , and it is yours.”

Judy merely glanced at the female black-suited guard also standing adjacent, and then spared her “host” a polite smile, even sitting up to address his reflection, “How…  _ delightful _ .”

His smile was still sharp; his eyes still dark as he brimmed with ominous anticipation, as though the roar of a towering waterfall that she could only drift towards.  “Until then, Judy. At least  _ try  _ to enjoy your stay here,” Grav chimed, and so turned with his guard in tow to lighten the room.  The female guard stood at attention in front of the closed double doors.

With her message in a bottle cast to an uncertain sea, Judy’s solitary concern was that Nick -- in all his cleverness that she so trusted -- was near enough to overhear her cipher rife with verbal winks (and so send a pick-up for a gray rabbit dressed in pink and blue).  If not… then she could only wish that Bo might forgive her… if she could ever face him again…

For the time being, Grav stood in the way of returning to her friends; Judy would need all her slyness to elude him and when they were alone could be her last chance.  The dinner would not be until much later, though, so she had the whole day to prepare herself and scope out the manor for the best plan of action. With his visage still fresh on her memory, as though it scarred the mirror into which she glared, Judy harbored but a single thought:  _ Bring it on. _

**Judy Hopps will return.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bo's muscular hyperatrophy was first introduced in Trustworthy, chapter 11, as one of the primary motivators for his education. As it was described back then (and here), hyperatrophy is coined as the "bunny curse" and one of the longest-held dreads for the species, right up there with being eaten by a predator or trampled by someone a fifty-times larger than them. The "curse" played an integral part in rabbit society and warren structures insomuch that empathy (as we'll learn in future chapters) is as natural for rabbits as breathing and hearing. That in mind, when there exists such a condition that is both genetic and debilitating as muscular hyperatrophy, along with the inevitability that the only thing a family can do is watch their loved one "count breaths" until they suffocate under the weight of their own rib cage, it tends to create an aversion to those that have it (whether out of pity or apprehension).
> 
> Also from Trustworthy, chapter 6, Nick recalls his discussion with Gideon about some sort of "thing" between hares and bunnies. Something of the sort was alluded to during Judy's fantastical adventure into the drug-induced dreamscape of "The Burrow", wherein "Briar used to be a bunny name". Largely speaking, most hare/bunny squabbles were territorial and there was a pseudo-issue with interbreeding, but that's hardly a problem nowadays.
> 
> And now we finally know what's up with Judy. She's currently the damsel-in-distress... perhaps more the heroine-in-distress but don't worry, she'll be just fine.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Though it is spoken in the movie (Gazelle's ending number, specifically) I do not identify the Spanish in this story as "Spanish" and neither am I a Spanish speaker, so for sake of simplicity, any dialog in a language other than English (Spanish, etc.) shall be designated in bold. Thank you for your patience, we now return you to your regularly scheduled story, already in progress.]

Nadia Bazzi, a bunny from Acorn Heights in Savannah Central, earned her master's degree but hit dead ends with every job interview, and must decide on a monthly basis whether to pay for rent and food, or student loans.

Raul Furnandez accrued gambling debts all across Sahara Square, from the Palm Casino to Sandy Cove and lucky though a rabbit’s foot may be, he cannot avoid his debtors forever.

Timothy Ruck, a father of six bunnies, came from Icy Lake in Tundra Town and  _ was  _ a mated rabbit, but the medical bills left behind proved a terrible burden.

As unlikely as it might seem, those individuals  _ did _ share some threads of coincidence: they all were rabbits; they all lived in the city of Zootopia; they all took medication for depression; they all received a letter with a  _ very _ specific dollar amount, unique to each of them, along with a prepaid train ticket and hotel reservation to attend the Tri-Burrow Reunion that year; and finally, they all gathered, one-by-one, at a table set up in front of a yellow-striped tent, as per instructions.

Bo Briar, a Bunnyburrow local, did not receive a letter with a specific dollar amount unique to him and was not on any prescriptions, but he  _ was _ involved at the yellow-striped tent all the same; not only did he help set it up, but also intended to participate in the pie-eating contest being held there at the time.  Poking out from the front flap from the aforementioned tent, the earthen-brown rabbit made a quick scan with both ears and eyes to notice three rabbits he’d never seen before, a gathering audience in newly assembled chairs, and a fourth he recognized as the elderly Mrs. Parsnippet, a volunteer in the TBR committee acting as officiator for the pie-eating contest.  Bo ducked back inside the tent for only a second and then came back out to approach the clay-red rabbit with her clipboard and large officiator box.

“Howdy, Mrs. Parsnippet,” Bo greeted with all due politeness.  Though he was ready and eager to help in any way he could, his heart was still heavy with recent news.  He waved to the other three rabbits sitting at the table, who each acknowledged not only his presence but also his unusual size and build in their own little way (however quiet or muted).

“Oh, Bo, dandy to see you again,” she replied with a habitual adjustment of her lanyard-tethered glasses and an equally polite smile, “How has your day been?”

“It’s been pretty swell.  I was just checking up on Gideon and everything’s good to go, if I’m not mistaken, on time,” he reported, paws to his waist and chest out as the elderly rabbit calmly checked her wristwatch with uncertainty.  At least one ear of each present rabbit pointed at the unzipping of a wide window flap, and all heads turned to register the stout fox securing the rolled-up panel overhead to reveal trays upon trays upon trays of whipped cream-topped pies.  Mrs. Parsnippet grunted daintily in satisfaction while Bo beamed, and each of the city-bunnies looked on in some degree of bewilderment at who (or what) was hosting the contest they were involved in. “Ma’am?” Bo discreetly requested of the inclining elderly rabbit, “You already said it was alright for me to take part, but d’you suppose a friend of mine could, as well?  He sampled some of Gideon’s pastries recently and now can’t get enough of them.”

With a quiet titter and a flick of the wrist, she answered, “Bless your heart, of course, he can join in; the more the merrier.  Where is he, though?” she asked with a swivel of both ears, “I  _ shan’t _ abide tardiness, friend or not.”  Bo already gave a thumbs-up to the tent when out sauntered Nick in his disguise, fur disheveled and clothes far shabbier than his normal fare.  Mrs. Parsnippet politely reeled as she leaned towards the larger rabbit to quietly ask, “ _ He’s  _ your friend?”

“And Gid’s cousin, but we just call him ‘Stretch’,” Bo plainly said, with an equally plain smile, “He’s visiting from the city.”

“Hey, how you doin’,” a then adjacent ‘Stretch’ drawled, speaking more like a Gnu Yorker than the exaggerated country bumpkin he initially planned, a demeanor which both the farm-fox and the farm-bunny found inappropriate.  Not only was it rude but, quite frankly,  _ folly _ to assume that the denizens of Bunnyburrow couldn’t spot an over-the-top caricature of a local boy from a mile off.  Convincing Nick to transition from one to the other was easily accomplished when Bo presented his case on the matter, and when Gideon swiftly swatted under Nick’s tail with the wooden spoon after he tried a “hoo-wee!”, a “boy-howdy”, and a “I tell you h’wat”.

“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Mrs. Parsnippet insisted, if more to herself than ‘Stretch’, but waved a dainty paw all the same, “Alright, you two, take your seats, we’ll begin soon,” she directed and so replenished her composure.  The audience roused as the five took their positions on the long, cloth-covered table, Bo positioning himself between the fox and the other three rabbits, as a matter of assumed courtesy that was readily, subtly appreciated.

Firstly, Bo glanced to Nick, nearly slumped upon the table with his chin on a fist as he tried to accommodate himself onto the bunny-sized bench; however, behind the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses perched on his snout the keen, focused eyes betrayed that lethargic front.  No doubt, Nick was watching the crowd, analyzing every sidelong glance, furrowed brow, and twitching ear; ever vigilant was he for whoever intended to report the pie-eating contest back to the shadowy puppetmaster, Magnus.

Mingling on the outside of the audience was a mongoose, an armadillo, and an aardvark wearing white t-shirts and carrying a stack of papers each.  From a distance, it was clear they were part of the Lookers strung along on a believable rumor that the Missing Prince was at the TBR, and indeed, upon their respective shirts were the words “HAVE YOU SEEN ME?” over a boyish smile of the lion cub Simon King.  They handed out missing mammal leaflets with that same image and additional information, like an artist’s rendition of how he could look twenty years older (complete with the uniquely wavy fiery mane, just like his father Memphis King that so readily distinguished him at a glance).  The rabbits received their guests amiably, as they were apt to do, up until the Prince’s Guard eventually left to continue Looking.

Secondly, Bo turned to whom he sat adjacent, a weathered rabbit whose fur remained wintery white year-around due to his arctic residence.  Though the sun was bright, the air was fresh, and the smell of warm pies was all the more abundant with each tray that Gideon set on the table, Bo couldn’t help but feel that his own cordial smile was… forced.  “Hi,” he said and held up a brown mitt of a paw in greeting, “Bo Briar. Are you in from the city, too?”

Starting as though he were stirred from sleep, the paternal rabbit addressed Bo with a soft clearing of his throat.  “Hey, yeah, I’m Tim, Tim Ruck, from Tundratown,” and smiled as best he could, glancing up into the -- inadvertently -- sadder, hazel eyes, “And I’m only here for a day.  But this here’s Nadia and he’s Raul, they’re visiting, too,” he continued; she smiled shyly, awkwardly, and returned to clutching the purse in her lap as she stared pensively at the pies; he gave a single wave with a curt grin, and then continued eying either fox with nervousness in his ears.  Grasping the paw, it was clear to the farm-bunny that while it was not a digger’s paw like his own, at least not to the same extent, it was one that knew industry and hard labor… yet the grip couldn’t seem to respond with that same strength, like a remote control car with bad batteries.  Bo kept his smile up, though; that was important to do, especially with the present company.

Nick and Gideon already briefed him on what they discussed with Judy: the contestants brought out to Bunnyburrow would be bunnies diagnosed with depression, a hypothetically fertile soil for the fabled death-shriek, which the Night Howler drug was supposed to induce through invoking primal fear and allowing the diminished emotional state to simply  _ let _ them give up on life; to top it all off, the prime suspect for such dastardly behavior was none other than Magnus Hopps.  Bo might’ve popped a fuse trying to comprehend  _ how _ that was possible,  _ why _ someone (much less Magnus Hopps) would do it, and whether or not either fox was pulling his leg again.  Even so, he trusted their insight because it was with Judy whom they reached such a conclusion, and when that he sat with the city-bunnies, he certainly could  _ feel _ the weight of emptiness they each carried in their hearts, despite the several dozens of onlookers sitting not a few yards away, bustling with positivity or anticipation (and maybe some boredom).  Limited though Bo’s knowledge might be on the subject of depression and other such mental maladies, he intuitively understood that there was a deep gap in his fellow bunnies’ lives.

Empathy is an innate part of any mammal species, as repeated psychological and zoological studies have shown, especially among prey species whose unit per family group may very well number in the dozens, or in the case of rabbits,  _ hundreds _ .  Emotional connection, in conjunction with one’s scent, permits an understanding of identity and communication without the confusion that can come from the spoken or written word (which are used mainly for the identification and communication with those outside the family and more importantly, outside the species).  Bunnies, from an early age, hone the art of empathy as easily as they would see, feel, hear, and breath -- far earlier than they would to walk or talk -- usually through frequent socializing, play, and physical contact; it’s not uncommon to find bunnies piled onto the furniture, holding paws regardless of gender or age, or sitting on each other as casually as they would if conversing (often misunderstood as a lack of space inside of warrens).  Even rabbits in “small” families, like those in the city, will maintain a strong “warren” with neighboring families (like in apartment complexes) built on the same sense of empathy, even so far as to designate a common room for everyone to meet up in. As a practical example, in contrast to how foxes deal with familial issues one-on-one or as few involved as necessary, rabbits’ approach involve as many available at the time to “shoulder the burden” of emotional gravity.

For Bo, since he spent time with numerous farm families in his youth and thus learned to “connect” with other rabbits more readily than otherwise, couldn’t help but feel like his concern and dread for Judy’s safety pushed to the forefront of his mind, and his proximity to Tim itched as he seemed to share a similar, if not identical, lament.  He kept his waning smile up, though, even as the winter rabbit pivoted in his seat to face him, looking and acting much like Stu Hopps would in such a situation (except with a Tundratown accent, of course).  Nadia lifted her head and inclined, and even Raul turned an ear and an eye when Tim spoke (though in that low, hushed manner bunnies do when they want to keep something private that only their own keen ears can pick up).

“What’s wrong, son?” Tim asked -- as a paternal rabbit might -- and to the pursing lips of Bo, he glanced quickly at the nearby fox(es) and insisted, “If this is about that letter with the train ticket, you can tell me.  We all got one.”

Bo spared a dart of the eyes to both Nadia and Raul (she agreeing more readily than he).  While Nick had mentioned there would’ve been some way to get them to Bunnyburrow, he detailed a  _ few _ plausible methods, with an anonymous train ticket as the most likely.  He flicked a brown ear at the fox, but dare not glance too far over his shoulder.  Instead, he turned his back completely to set an elbow on the table, “No, I didn’t get anything like that,” Bo answered and then remembered the numerous times Nick berated him in the debriefing to not volunteer  _ any _ information, including implications that he was aware of subversive machinations, so added, “I  _ live _ here.”

Nadia leaned in curiously, perhaps even expectantly, “This might sound odd -- and I don’t mean to offend, so I apologize if I do -- but are you on any medications?” she asked as politely as possible.  Her tone reminded Bo of when Judy was on the trail of an idea, which both lightened and darkened his mood.

“I…” he said quietly, “No, I’m only on supplements, nothing prescribed.”  Bo felt a burning sensation in the back of his head that did little to dissuade the chill running up his spine; he didn’t need to look at Nick to know that a sidelong glance was watching him, and though he was  _ pretty _ sure the fox couldn’t hear a conversation between rabbits, as low as they were talking, he couldn’t know for certain.  Regardless, Bo was a bunny, first and foremost, and  _ could  _ not omit information from those who sought absolution.  They managed to connect themselves in the event somehow, that much was obvious, and even the presence of ‘Stretch’ might’ve made some kind of sense on account of the fox baker covering the table in pies, but this farm-bunny…   “It’s just…” he continued with ears back, knowing that he couldn’t talk about Judy’s circumstances and so his cognitive gears worked their slyest, “I found out that… that there’s nothing I can do to… to save my girlfriend…” he trailed off.  Indeed, a true enough sentiment that weighed him fiercely, yet also vague that a number of implications were easily assumed. It was Tim who reacted first, reaching out to grip Bo’s shoulder in support, and there he felt the strength of an industrial worker and dad.  Nadia frowned and then smiled in sympathy, providing a quiet statement of hope.  Even Raul seemed sympathetic in his own way.  Admittedly, Bo felt a bit lighter in their company, and then the reverie whisked away at a terse clearing of the throat from Nick.

Sitting upright, the earthen rabbit realized that in the span of their private conversation, Gideon had set down the last tray of pies as Mrs. Parsnippet finished the nitty-gritty of the contest for the audience’s benefit.  Bo glanced to Nick, and indeed that laser-like glare from out the corner of a green eye caused sweat to bead at the bunny’s brow and temples, especially in the surrounding context of an otherwise disinterested posture. Though unpracticed in the exact art of facial expressions for unspoken communication, Bo’s barely mitigated worry -- mixed with a certainty of individual effort -- radiated off of his features to tell Nick all he needed to know about how little was conversed of (surely, if Bo felt like he  _ actually _ spilled any beans, he would have looked guilty or apologetic).

 

* * *

Presented for the five of them were well over a hundred pies crowned in whipped cream, and though the rabbits would not know it, the chicken-oil-based whipped cream (the “bad stuff”) was undetectable until it was right under their noses; for Nick and his olfactory senses, however, they practically neon.  Each contestant was given a large napkin to use as a bib; Tim pushed his sleeves up to the elbow, Raul rolled up his, and Nadia removed her jacket to reveal the very short-sleeve shirt beneath, and at the prompting of the officiator, readied themselves for the gong that Mrs. Parsnippet held aloft.

Gideon stood off to the side but as close as he could be to the empty tent in which Lanny hid with the Night Howler antidote, kept nearby in the event that someone somehow ingested what they shouldn’t.  His nerves were ablaze as he strained with all his available willpower and composure to not claw at his arms in anxiety (old habits die hard, after all), but so far, the three city bunnies only grabbed for the safe whipped cream, and if it looked like they were about to lift up one that was villainously drugged and slipped into the stock of an unsuspecting baker, they passed over it onto another one.  It certainly  _ looked _ like things were going well.

Mr. Ruck was the first to duck out, sitting back on the table’s bench to wipe his face and mitts clean, mentioning about how he wasn’t as young as he used to be and about how he’ll later regret eating all that sugar (but not at the time being).  He rose up from his seat and tossed his bib down, tucking his thumbs into his waistband to withdraw.

Mr. Furnandez was slower in his eating and seemed to watch Tim carefully before sitting back, as well, loosing a long sigh to rub the exaggerated bulge his stomach.  His face and paws were much less messy when he removed and folded his bib, and departed the table quite comfortably.

Ms. Bazzi was not so quick to give up, for she was still empowered by youth and fresh out of college, so she ate as if storing calories for hibernation.  In time, though, she accepted her capacity for food intake and slowly cleaned herself off, watching in fascinated horror at the two remaining at the table.

Nick and Bo, with their advantage of size, metabolism, and appreciation for free food, inhaled pie after pie, letting whipped cream splatter across their bibs, arms, and faces in a juvenile mess.  They were racing each other in a true competition to determine who -- in such a pointless but wholly worthwhile endeavor -- was better. The first to pause was Nick but not because his stomach screamed a ceasefire: he’d eaten the last safe pie in arm’s reach.  Everything else was toxic, and in that split second, it appeared that Bo arrived at the same realization, but not before already picking up a perilous pie that he almost took a fervent bite of.

Every eye and ear was on him, the audience’s breath reaching a pitch to find out what he would do with that final pie.   _ He _ knew what would happen; he would revisit it and everything else he crammed down his gullet from the last few minutes, just like what happened on Saturday.  So, staring at the ironically named “baked good” in mounting nausea, he instead dropped it face down on the table with a leaden sigh in sudden realization of how much was actually packed into his stomach.  The gears in his head turned once more, and with a groan, he flopped back from the bench onto the grass in a graceless heap, letting his feet fling up to cede the contest.

The fox rose in triumph, fists in the air to the applause of gratitude for the entertainment.  He promptly caught a belch before patting the slight bulge of his stomach, “ _ Lookit _ me, I’m  _ hyuge _ ,” he laughed, “Lemme tell ya’, if I had any  _ idear _ it’d be this much fun, I’d’ve come out to the country sooner.”

Mrs. Parsnippet approached with a polite smile, “I’m afraid the contest isn’t  _ quite _ over, Mr. Stretch,” she explained, examining a pair of clickers cradled in her paw.

“You  _ shure _ ?” ‘Stretch’ challenged, eyebrow quirking severely over the rim of his sunglasses, “I’m the last mammal standin’ over here,” and gestured to his specific location.

“Bless your heart, hun, but we count  _ pies _ in Bunnyburrow,” the elderly rabbit endeared and then showed the set of clickers, “Which both you and Mr. Briar are tied at, with…  _ quite _ the number, if I may say so, but tied all the same.”

Nick lifted his sunglasses to lean over to examine the numbers, adding under his breath, “Are you flippin’ kidding me,” as non-threateningly as he could.

“Not to worry, according to the rules just  _ one more  _ bite can act as a tiebreaker,” Mrs. Parsnippet officiated, gesturing to the nearest pie.

“ _ ‘Zat _ all?   _ Fuggit _ about it, ain’t even a thing, but  _ yous _ stand back in case I  _ explode’r _ somethin’,” a grinning Nick scoffed and grabbed up the pie to lick his lips. He angled the toxic treat so that his nose dove into the savory-sweet whipped cream (and thus smearing it across his snout) and took a bite from the buttery-crust to prevent anything harmful from entering his mouth.  He gulped, huffed, and set down the half-eaten pie to wipe off the delicious yet dangerous puffy white on the bib. “Boom,” he punctuated to additional applause.

* * *

Nick received a blue ribbon and a  Wallaby*Mart gift certificate for winning the contest (and even got his picture taken, which he removed his sunglasses for), while Bo received a red runner-up ribbon, and Nadia the white third-place; Tim and Raul each earned a yellow participation ribbon (or the otherwise named “appreciation of making a spectacle of yourself for the amusement of others” ribbon).  ‘Stretch’ maintained his inner-city dialog so long as Mrs. Parsnippet and most of the audience was present, but as she and they dispersed he found himself cradling the blue ribbon in his palm, quietly considering its significance. It was clear to him that it was not some cheap, off-the-shelf token somebunny purchased for the sake of handing out a prize, but was frilly at the top and long at the bottom with clear, gold-colored text of “Pie-Eating: 1st Place”.  Thought and effort went into making that ribbon, and what’s more, it was willingly, happily awarded to a fox from a bunny.

Unable to prevent the warmth in his chest, Nick wryly mused with a grin to match and thumbed the gift card,  _ I should get this framed, give it to Mom so she can add it to my gallery.  She and Dad’ll get a kick out of it. _

Gideon promptly cleaned up the uneaten pies (specifically, ones he  _ knew _ were bad), and it looked like he was handling some rabbits from the remaining audience interested in sampling his whipped cream and other such baked goods.  When they recoiled from what was left over, the stouter fox looked most apologetic (and from what Nick’s ears could pick up) for “the whipped cream left too close to the oven while it was on”.  Some TBR staff came by to take down the table and chairs while Gideon handed out pie-slices dolloped with  _ good _ whipped cream (since some of it went unused on account of the new stuff made that morning), and while he didn’t have the license to  _ sell _ anything to the Reunion-goers, there was no reason he couldn’t  _ give _ it away (along with, as Nick spotted, a business card for his bakery and “rumors” that he’d be willing to consider the expansion of his clientele to “city folk”).

Bo mingled with some of the audience alongside Tim and Nadia, but his conversation was uninteresting aside from the tractor pull he needed to attend after the pie-eating contest (and something about finding someone who could finally beat him in a test of strength; it quite seemed that he held some undefeated title for several years running).  Nick kept apart from the going-ons to maintain vigilance for any suspicious characters, but what bothered him most about the slew of rabbits, hares, and a sparse collection of other farm mammals was the severe lack of anyone discreetly reporting or ducking away to report anything at all. Surely, a drug test has certain  _ expectations _ and a phenomenon like unanimous results should warrant  _ some _ kind of reaction (especially with the painstaking effort Magnus went through to  _ ensure _ its actualization).   _ It’s like the calm before a storm, but there’s no storm… _ Nick disapproved.

One of the city-bunnies that partook in the contest was not among the rest, but rather near the fox and studying him closely, to which said fox paid an impatient scowl, “You got a problem?”

“I’ve  _ seen _ you somewhere before,” Raul accused, if curiously.

To this, Nick glanced over his shoulder at everyone else and then leaned in to lower his eyewear,  **“Raul Furnandez, I see the dice finally caught up to you,”** he said in his normal tone but not in his normal language, rather speaking a passionate tongue common to the far,  _ far _ south, well beyond Zootopia’s borders; however, his tone was anything but “passionate”, even if he spoke it as naturally as breathing.

**“Nick Wilde, I should’ve known!”** the ochre bunny whispered his distaste, but then smugly added,  **“I’ll have you know that I’ve got a clean slate.  But what’re** **_you_ ** **doing out in the boondocks?”**

**“That’s not** **_entirely_ ** **your business,”** he speculated and then smugly smirked in kind,  **“However, I think you can be of some help to me.”**

Raul scoffed and grinned,  **“As if I would** **_ever_ ** **… unless, of course, you want to pay back the fifty bucks you owe me, I wouldn’t mind slipping some information for whatever you’re** **_not_ ** **here for.”**

Nick calmly snarled to get his (ivory) point(s) across,  **“I ‘owe’ you a** **_knuckle sandwich_ ** **for that stunt at Cactus Grove.”**

**“Cactus Grove…?”** he doubted, and then cautiously measuring the fox officer’s reaction, pleaded his case,  **“That wasn’t…** **_you_ ** **weren’t part of that, were you?  Nick, believe me, that wasn’t** **_my_ ** **idea, and if I’d known** **_you_ ** **were there…”**  Raul stopped short at an already waning patience broadcast over the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses,  **“You know what, today’s about tying up loose ends, so let’s put the past behind us.  What kind of ‘help’ are we talking about, exactly?”**

The fox harrumphed with a shrug of his eyebrows,  **“All I need to know is who got you out here and why.  Email, hotel reservation, train ticket, taxi driver, catapult rental, anything you’ve got with info on it, and the less lip I get, the better.”**

“ _ Ay caramba _ ,  **you’re really around every corner, aren’t you,”** Raul dreaded, but preferring the “better” option, ceded without too much lip,  **“Thing is, I** **_do_ ** **have a print out of the train and hotel confirmations, but to just hand it over so** **_blatantly_ ** **…”**  And then he spoke a  _ bit _ louder, and in a more widely understood language, “That’s a pretty ribbon you got there, ‘Stretch’,” he conversed, “Can I see?”

“Oh yeah,” ‘Stretch’ answered, sunglasses over his eyes once more as he, likewise, conversed in his city-fox accent, “That’s going right on the fridge went I get home,” he laughed.

After turning it over in a show of admiration, the rabbit handed it back, with an “ _ Adios _ ,  _ amigo, _ ” and left; casually.

Casually, Nick pocketed both the ribbon and the folded sheets of paper hidden under it, and returned to the tent when the last of the spectators took their leave.  “Closing so soon?” Nick asked quietly and in his more recognizable tone as Gideon lowered and secured the flap for the front window, “Business was finally picking up.”

“Ayeup, wasn’t s’posed to be here for too long, jus’ enough for the contest, and tha’s that,” he shrugged, but smiled all the same, “I actually had some other plans for today, wanted to check out the TBR, maybe find some int’resting recipes.”  When he saw his cousin smoothed some printouts on the temporary counter, he couldn’t help but wonder, “What’s this?”

“Something I got from one of the contestants,” Nick reported, and pulled out his phone to snap a picture of confirmations from both transportation and lodging, “You could say he’s something of a ‘friend’ of mine; if nothing else, he tends to get me in trouble and I return the favor every once in a while.”

Gideon snickered, “Consid’ring how you treat family, I’d say that fits the bill.”

“ _ Hah _ , funny guy; that’s what you are, a funny, funny guy,” but inwardly grinned as he typed out a request for research to Finnick with the attachments and some manner of saccharine gratitude.  “Mind if I burn these in the oven?” he asked, scooping up the print-outs to shred them.

“Yes, but go ahead anyway,” the baker allowed, “Use the bottom one, should still be hot enough to blacken ‘em a bit, at least.”

“Thank  _ you _ ,” Nick chimed, tossing the bundle of torn paper into the opened oven door, used the metal scouring brush to break up the charred strips, and then back out for his fellow fox to close it up, clapping his paws in resolution.  “That should do it. Now then, if I can get that tie back and so return to my loveable, Conifer District foxiness, I can prevent the atrocious habit of misplacing my ‘R’s when I speak,” he said and untied the shirt from around his waist to give it a quick flap.

“I dunno I kinda like this whole…  _ ‘professional’ _ thing I got goin’,” he mused, and hooked his thumbs around the straps of his apron as though they were suspenders or overalls, “Might even get me a second tie.”

“And learn to tie a proper knot,” Nick teased as he slipped his arms through the wrinkled sleeves, and frowned with disapproval at yet more forestry from his earlier “romp” that needed brushing from its fabric.

Gideon considered the proposal, “Or I could jus’ mail ‘em to you and have you tie me that special knot of yours,” he teased right back to pull the neckwear out from his apron to tug the quick-release with a quiet, boyish giggle.  After a snap of his wrist, Gideon unwound it from his shirt’s collar to flick it over his cousin’s head, during which he undid the top buttons of his shirt to let it and the tufts of fur within air out, “I’ll be glad to get out of this tent and away from that oven, though, it ain’t got airflow like my bak’ry does,” he huffed.

A quick rapping of knuckles on a tentpole framing the front door flap paused either fox, though only with a cursory caution and a quick exchange of glances that knew it wasn’t Bo, who would have simply walked in.  Nick nodded towards the entrance and Gideon nodded in agreement, the former once more donning his shades and leaning on the counter casually while the latter approached to answer.

Knowing better than to come across as suspicious or scared, the baker put on a hospitable smile to greet whoever was on the other side.  “Oh, afternoon, Mr. Barley, what brings you ‘round to my neck of the woods?” Gideon inquired.

Nick’s cursory caution transmuted into a panic contained by masterful composure (running on fumes though it was),  _ Holy canoli, he was serious, _ was the realization,  _ He’s actually going to announce my demise at a bunch of birds.  Did he already tell Esther or Sheriff Longmare? Shoot, the kind of debacle this could cause… _

“I’m afraid I have some grave news, Mr. Grey, and wanted to approach you sooner but felt that interrupting the contest would have been… undeserving,” he soberly reported, “May we talk privately?”

“Oh, uhh…?” Gideon worried, stepping aside to glance at Nick and holding the flap open, “S-sure, yeah, of course…”  As the rabbit entered, blue eyes beseeched green, wondering if the visit had something to do with Judy (of whom at hearing about the coded message, he had emotions mixing awed and anxious) or Esther (of whom he was quite certain that, under the protection of Sheriff Longmare, was the safest she could possibly be); green eyes remained unfathomable behind the shades.

“Thank you,” the gray-and-cream, middle-aged rabbit accepted, entering and stopping when he saw the taller fox and frowned a stony frown to herald deathly quiet inside the tent.  Gideon stood behind Mr. Barley, back stiff as a board, twiddling his fingers to await any cue or lead from a wholly stoic Nick, who quietly addressed a bunny that grew more and more irritated with unmistakable self-disappointment.  His arms crossed as he studied the seemingly patient, languid form, foot even thumping at an alarming pace, “Paint me a  _ fool _ …” he said under his breath at the end of his toes’ tantrum, and then untucking one paw from his elbow to gesture, “He said he had other cousins and I thought it a ruse… yet here you stand.”

_ Jeez, give a guy a heart attack, why don’t you…  _ “‘Scuse you?” the Gnu Yorker accent said.

“I thought I heard from the other rabbits that you were a cousin of Mr. Grey’s, visiting from the city, which makes you a cousin of  _ Nick Wilde’s _ , as well,” Mr. Barley tersely accepted, and then added, “Since you  _ are  _ family, the news I have about him also concerns  _ you _ .”

“Wh-what news is this about Nick…?” Gideon demanded if hushed with doubt and concern.  He’d gotten a  _ very _ brief recap about the dash through the woods and something about “I’ll have to tell you later, it’s  _ priceless _ ”, but the idea that Nick might have made a powerful enemy in the short time he’d been gone was almost too much to simply brush off.  When the rabbit turned fully to face him, Gideon asked, “Has he gotten himself into trouble again?”

A tremendous sigh anchored Mr. Barley on the spot, paws folded solemnly at his stomach, “A truly ill fate befell your cousin.  My Watch… we were assigned to apprehend him on suspicion of his conspiring in mischief. I’m afraid I cannot go into specifics, but it involves…” and his eyes searched the floor for some kind of prompt, “a missing mammal… someone that I learned you’ve recently grown close to, Mr. Grey.”  To Gideon’s confused stance, with his paws on his hips and brow all knitted, Mr. Barley continued, “This is difficult to say, and I know it will be difficult to comprehend; had I not been there to witness it I would hardly know how to receive it myself, but… it is with a heavy heart that I tell you that Nick Wilde is no longer with us…”

The statement did not hang long enough for any kind of tumultuous bewilderment to take hold, though.  “That’s not quite the whole story, Mr. Barley,” Nick said, and not in his inner-city accent or even his friendly pretentiousness, but in a sylvan sagacity.  The other two addressed the response, each in their own action of redirecting line-of-sight and degree of surprise (Gideon’s the notably calmer) to find Nick standing upright, sans sunglasses, and as he was caught in the midst of fastening his shirt when the knock came, only had the second and third buttons secured with the sleeves hanging open.  What he also had that he didn’t before was a black feather secured behind his ear (one of many “souvenirs” he kept plucking out of his fur) held in place by Esther’s bobby pin (which he had yet the chance to return), along with a serene, wry smile.

While Gideon’s reaction was of placid disbelief, Mr. Barley’s was wide-eyed gawking with a hurried sign of the four-leafed clover as he looked up into Nick’s calm, yet playful face, “My lucky stars…” was all he muttered, but then leaned forward with a fervent inquiry, “ _ How _ … explain yourself…?”

Nick initially considered an enlightened façade to explain how he got away from those blackbirds,  _ But why not just go with what I know _ , and instead presented a vivacious, sprite-like grin and as aethereal a tone as he thought was believable, “I cut a deal, Mr. Barley.  You see, those weren’t crows but  _ ravens _ , and they agreed to look the other way so long as I delivered a message for them.”

“ _ Trickster _ ,” the rabbit accused in hushed awe.

“ _ Fox _ ,” Nick reminded with his brightest-eyed grin and reached up to pluck the feather from its mooring to lean in until his nose nearly touch the base of the rabbit’s ear, “Listen well: ask  _ Magnus _ where Judy is,” and slipped the feather into Mr. Barley’s shirt pocket.  When he stood upright again, it was with genuine exhaustion that he played up by bracing the temporary counter and his knee with quiet heaving,  _ Whew… I didn’t realize how winded I really was…  C’mon, Nicky, keep it together, at least until the bunny leaves…  _  Both Gideon and Mr. Barley approached Nick with concern for his health (if from dissimilar reasoning), to which he held up a paw with a deep breath, and looked directly into the rabbit’s face, eyes no longer twinkling but tired, smile no longer whimsical but weary, “There… that should do it,” and nearly collapsed on the floor.

“Quick, get him some water!” the rabbit instructed, guiding Nick as best he could to sit up against the temporary cupboards, and then kindly observed, “You’re a blasted  _ fool _ , Nick Wilde, you should know better than to cut deals with ravens, they are friends of  _ wolves _ of a most ancient pact.  What if you were cursed with a fate worse than death?”

Nick simply smirked and waved his paw dismissively, “I’m a  _ fox _ , we can’t be cursed so long as we got our heads about us; just like rabbits’ feet are the luckiest with the rabbit still attached, right?”  He looked up at the grunting affirmation of Gideon, from whom he thankfully accepted a cup of cool water to sip.

Mr. Barley seemed struck between the eyes as his gaze darted between the two, “Yes, I suppose  _ so _ ,” he admitted as if only then realized how wet the ocean was and curled his toes audibly.  “Perhaps… there are a few things to take into consideration…” he said aloud and to himself, standing upright with a rub of his neck as he looked at the city-fox in quite a new light.

“So, what’s this about Nick and ‘mischief’?” Gideon inquired, if to both present mammals.

Mr. Barley grunted, visibly put-off that he would need to consider one of those “few things” so  _ soon _ .  “It was Magnus that called the Burrow Watch this morning to tell us that when you two came by the Hopps farmhouse last night, he thought he saw you carry Judy’s unconscious body into your van and drive off,” the rabbit reported to the baker.  Beneath the stern, mature expression of the Burrow Watch leader, both foxes inwardly trembled to refrain from expressing even an  _ iota _ of guilt.  “He regrets not calling it in sooner, especially since she hasn’t been answering her phone, but when we got another call about suspicious activity outside of Tad’s pawn shop, along with the scent of fox leading up to it, we positioned ourselves to observe.”

“You…  _ didn’t _ call the sheriff’s office?” Nick carefully asked.

“The Burrow Watch is an independent entity from the sheriff, and we don’t want to flood her phone lines with the multitude of calls the Watch receives Burrow-wide every day; after all, Sheriff Longmare needn’t worry herself over  _ every _ bird-of-prey in the sky,” he explained.  Nick glanced at another affirming grunt from Gideon.  “Suspicious characters are only reported if conclusive, which we were set to do when you came running out of that house, darting about like you were trying to escape.  To that, we gave chase and might I say, Mr. Wilde, you are  _ not  _ an easy mammal to catch; you really put my bunnies through their paces.”

_ Graves and Magnus double-dipped the local authorities, then… _  “I’ll be honest, Barley, I didn’t think you were actually the Burrow Watch, otherwise I would’ve been a bit less… escape-y,” he didn’t lie,  _ It’s hard to think that such a disciplined regimen of farmers could possibly be home-grown…  _ and then recalled with an itching discomfort of the group of little bunnies that acted in perfect synchronicity to transport a boulder that Judy and Bo dug out of the ground on Saturday,  _ Bunnies are truly unnerving creatures when left to their own devices. _

“In that case, I apologize for the confusion,” he sincerely said, and touched the ebony feather through the fabric of his shirt pocket, “But your message from the ravens… I cannot deny that it has shaken me terribly, tasked as I am with the responsibility to get to the bottom of this.  Since Magnus already left Bunnyburrow, gaining an audience with him will prove a complicated feat, indeed,” but then he grinned, “Not to worry. I can make a few phone calls and as soon as tomorrow morning, we should be on the path to righting any wrongs. Thank you both for cooperating in this, and please accept my most heartfelt apologies for suspecting you of mischief,” he offered to either fox.

Gideon batted the air in good humor, “It happens.”

Nick slowly stood and set the empty cup on the counter, “Well, we foxes  _ are _ tricksters, like you said, and it comes with the territory.”

Mr. Barley canted his head some, and then rubbed his chin, “There  _ is _ something that’s been bugging me, if I may impose upon you, Mr. Wilde…?”

_ Sorry, I don’t do autographs,  _ “Fire away.”

“That cousin you mentioned earlier,” he began curiously, “I thought you were merely antagonizing my rabbits and me, but I cannot help but feel that you were being honest.  Clearly, you veiled yourself a disguise as another ‘cousin’, and I don’t doubt you had your reasons, all things considered… but what about…  _ her _ ?”

“‘Her’ who, Essy?” Gideon asked, glancing at the darting eyes of Nick.

“No no, the one with gray fur and purple eyes, like Judy,” Mr. Barley corrected, “I could hardly believe it myself, assuming it a ruse, but then my nephew said  _ he _ heard about a vixen with such colorations living long ago, as told by Otto Hopps, a venerable, trusted rabbit of the community.  So… I thought that maybe another was possible, especially since you said you knew her?”

Numerous profanities streamed behind Nick’s eyes as he grinned his most endearing, “Well… that is…  _ yes _ , after all, ‘I know everybody’, it’s on my business card,” he finally said to once again earn placid disbelief from Gideon and surprise from Mr. Barley.  As the rabbit bowed his head in thought, the taller turned on the stouter to glare a most fervent expression useful for any fox in need: “Either help me or shut up”.

“Intriguing…” the rabbit admitted and looked up again to  _ just _ miss the quarreling snarls of either fox snapping to ready, smiling compliance, “It’s merely a trifle, but I don’t suppose you could tell me her name?  My nephew says it’s something of a family legend amongst the Hoppses, even though neither Stu nor Bonnie pay it much heed; they’ve always been very…  _ modern _ rabbits.”

_ From all that Judy’s told about them and what little I gathered myself, I can’t wait to see what a ‘traditional’ bunny family looks like… _ Nick thought, “Her  _ name _ ?  No, I don’t mind giving out her name, so long as it doesn’t land her in trouble.  What’s in a name, right?”

“Oh, good,” Mr. Barley eagerly anticipated.

To which Nick hesitated before continuing, “She’s named…  _ Tr _ udy,” he enunciated in recollection of how the prior referenced Otto Hopps, a.k.a. “Pop-Pop”, would misremember Judy’s name over the phone.  Gideon bit back a decompressing groan of disapproval.

“‘Trudy’?”

“Wilde,” Gideon added cheerily, and Nick bit back his own decompressing groan of disapproval, “From his dad’s side.”

“Oh, I thought you said she wasn’t actually a cousin…?”

“That’s… because… foxes…  _ call _ each other ‘cousins’, even if we aren’t  _ really _ cousins,” Nick began, hurriedly sifting through his brain to remember how his Mom described fox-life back in the day, “As a form of… solidarity.  Contrariwise, we’ll refer to cousins as…  _ not _ cousins… because we banter, and it’s fun.”

“And  _ ‘Wilde’ _ is old Zootopian for ‘without extended family’,” Gideon finished.

“I did not know that,” the rabbit muttered in some degree of polite wonder, and tapped his chin while cradling his elbow, “Trudy Wilde… no doubt short for ‘Gertrude’.  Well, thank you both for your assistance, especially in such a… trifle as that. I wish you both good fortune in the rest of your day, and I shall report back as  _ soon _ as I hear anything on Judy,” and turned to exit.  The dueling scowls were at it again, only to burst into volcanic concern when Mr. Barley’s ear sprung towards the tent wall hiding Lanny, and leaned the older rabbit nearer, “What in the world…?”

Nick leaped into action, placing a paw on the rabbit’s shoulder to usher him towards the tent flap leading out the front, “That’s nothing, absolutely nothing.”

“I’m  _ certain _ I heard growling,” Mr. Barley asserted, staying his feet to the floor.

“A friend of ours,” Nick assured, “Maybe a little under the weather, right Bangs?”

“Ayeup.”

“Does he need medical attention?”

“Nope,” Gideon answered, intervening between the inquisition and the wall by holding up both paws with a placating smile, “He’s jus’ sleepin’ off last night; ya’know how it is, big party, lotsa fun into the wee hours.  He needs a nap, is all, and he’ll be right as rain.”

Mr. Barley grunted again, paws to his hips, “He sure sounds big.”

“Oh, yeah,” Nick confirmed.

“ _ Huge _ ,” agreed Gideon, and held out his paws in further emphasis.

The rabbit eyed them, but nodded, “Very well.  I’ll be in the area on account of the Prince’s Guard lurking about the tents’ perimeter, so if either of you or he needs anything, call and I, or another member of the Watch, will come by.  Alright?”

“Sure thing, Mr. Barley,” the baker immediately answered.  He and his fellow fox let the tent flap fall into place and put an ear each to it to listen as the rabbit walked out of earshot.  Both sighed, Gideon wiping his brow and Nick rubbing his temples; they then exchanged nods, one directional and the other affirming, the former ducked under the yellow-striped wall to check on the lion while the latter walked around to the back of the tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Wallaby*Mart" is one of those Zootopian analogs from the artbook that fit my purpose in this story (and it's a fun pun to use, based on Wal*Mart, as fine a place as any to spend free money). There was a promotional campaign a few years back that affixed a carrying bag to a shopper's frontside called the "MarsuPouch". It sparked a controversy that embroiled the local marsupial community and equal rights groups at large (despite the owners of Wallaby*Mart being marsupials themselves) with accusations of not only bigoted stereotyping but copyright infringement as well since a patent resembling the "MarsuPouch" had already been on the books for quite a while beforehand, called the "Joey-Goey". The controversy died down in a few days when it was revealed that the patent holder had sold the design to Wallaby*Mart, who modified and marketed the "MarsuPouch" as a cheaper convenience for shoppers, was set to debut the improved "Joey-Goey" next holiday season, and when no one could soundly rationalize how the "MarsuPouch" was insensitive to marsupials but the fanny-pack wasn't (barring any existing opinions of the fanny-pack).
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "They say that 'you attract more flies with honey than vinegar' but I ask myself as to why I would want to attract flies when I could just eat the honey... or better yet, attract friends with the honey and let the flies have the vinegar. I would not want the flies to think they are unwelcome, after all, and if they like vinegar, then it works out best for everyone."
> 
> -Winston Poohbear

_ Lookers gonna Look, huh? _ Nick suspected, poking his head out to peer up and down the otherwise empty expanse of Horseshire’s fields and distant trees kept at bay by the rampart of white tents.  Though “harmless fanatics”, he could not so readily dismiss Lanny’s concern about either their intents or their methods,  _ Lions aren’t usually skittish and our resident nurse doesn’t seem the type to shoulder paranoia on a whim _ .  Tycho King was, to coin a phrase, “penthouse level information”, but what Nick heard about Memphis’s younger brother was not the nicest, especially concerning his aggressive team of hyena lawyers.   _ A group of ‘nutbars’ could be an ideal cover to hunt for the long-lost heir to the King fortune…  _ he reasoned, _ or at least a believable lookalike…  Remove all forms of identification except for some fake dental records, and you can fool even the sharpest detective… _  Sniffing at the air, Nick could sense no one or thing out of the ordinary… until he caught a scent he’d not smelled for months.   _ So there really was one more kidnapper, after all,  _ he determined and sniffed around quietly, footfall making hardly a sound even for  _ his _ ears as he approached the bakery van parked not too far off, and snuck around to the front.

There, tucked under the wiper blade, was a missing mammal leaflet for Simon King gently fluttering in the passive breeze.

There, still holding the stack of missing mammal leaflets, stood a solitary Looker wearing the white “HAVE YOU SEEN ME?” t-shirt over a dark orange collared shirt with the sleeves of the latter rolled up to meet the sleeves of the former and sporting a low-set baseball cap.

There, the two of them seemingly taken aback to see one another, was a ram and a fox sharing an instant of stoic calculation before the former flung his stack of papers in a severe arch to intercept the latter’s engaging dash.

Nick covered ground in a flash, tail wheeling as he charged through the flurry of leaflets while the ram pulled down his shirt collar to reach into his wool and -- as was quickly recognizable to the city-cop -- a secreted holster (one of the reasons why all sheep and other such shaggy mammals are sheared when processed in prison).  Seconds before they were in close combat, the gun was already out and leveled for the fox’s head, and were it not for his reflexes and foresight, the shot would have done more than graze the fur on his scalp.   _ Air-powered dart rifle, military grade _ , Nick analyzed and anchored his foot to empower the upward strike to slam the heel of his palm into the ram’s wrist, sending it and the arm attached high overhead.

A hooven fist responded in kind, rising from the sheep’s off-side to direct at the fox’s lanky gut, and with the already wheeling tail continuing another full rotation, so did Nick’s spine join its elusive spiral to curve out of the path of hard-handed brawling, it instead brushing through the loose shirt billowed about an athletic frame.  Twisting to the side, dark-furred toes thrust off from the ground to rise and spin with the body following through in a run-by strike. Up above, the hoof securely clutching the gun’s handle flicked it in a practiced action to one-hand cock the air-powered rifle for a second shot to enter the barrel, and as he pulled down with his considerable might, so did he aim his elbow for the stripe of red fur between bright green eyes.

In a final flex of his abdominal muscles, Nick jerked his spine to continue its drastic wrenching and yank his precious face away from the elbow drop, flipping on his feet to slide back across the grass and towards the tent behind him.  Eyes up, he saw the barrel leveling on him again and repeated his dash but in a duck-and-weave, to further tax any aiming that injured wrist could manage when not braced by the other hoof.  Another shot was fired and stung the base of Nick’s ear as it grazed pelt where an eye was only an instant before, instead, striking the empty white tent wall to cause a ripple and a muted thunderclap.

The ram raised both hooves to reload his weapon for the third and final shot, elbow out; Nick’s agility slid him nearly adjacent as he turned his body once again but to bring his main fist up and into the sheep’s tricep of his non-dominant arm (he knew better than to strike the bountiful cushion of wool surrounding a sheep’s torso).  The elbow rose as the hoof snapped down and the fox slipped by but found that he could go no further as his neck caught and feet slid.  He pivoted, as did the ram, joined by the necktie wrapped around a quick, cloven hoof.  With the window of opportunity afforded him from a gagging fox, the gunner aimed directly between Nick’s eyes.  Clawed paws were up and out to the side, green eyes crossed at a shot he had no chance of dodging; as it was, the two earlier shots  _ should  _ have hit him, were it not for the razor’s edge advantage of a distracting cloud of leaflets so graciously provided.

There, as the final sheet of paper fell to the ground and with a gun literally pointed at his head, only one avenue remained for the fox: talking.

“ _ Doug _ ,” Nick chimed.

“Nick,” Doug stated.

“Haven’t seen you since the Pred-Scare.  What’cha been up to?”

“I took a job out in the country.”

“Exciting.  What kind of job?”

“Hunting foxes.”

“ _ Ooh _ , tricky.  Going well, I hope.”

“Could be better; could be worse.”

“I see you picked up a hobby,” and gestured to the smiling lion cub on Doug’s shirt.

“…”

“Didn’t peg you for the Looking type.”

“Okay, shut up,” Doug demanded, jerking the tie and fingering the trigger.

“I’m guessing that’s  _ not  _ Night Howler.”

“Good guess.”

“I’m also guessing you were in Preds’ Corner earlier today.”

“…”

“You used the Prince’s Guard as a cover to escape; you’re welcome, by the way,” Nick explained and sniffed at the air, “You’re also in the employ of the Gravedigger, probably his spotter, all the best snipers have one, like a golfer’s caddy.  No, don’t deny it; I can smell the wolf on you. Where is he, anyway?  He shot at my family and I’m  _ quite _ cross with him.”  A low, angry bleating -- paired with the barrel pressed directly against Nick’s head -- did manage to shut him up… for a bit, “Why are you  _ here _ , anyway?”

Doug scoffed, “I figured the gun would be obvious.”

“You could’ve plucked me or Gideon off at your leisure were that the case, yet here we are,” he gestured again, “So… what’s on your mind?”

The trigger-knuckle relaxed during the full two beats of contemplation, “‘Dawson’.  What is it?”

If any of the mocking laughter inside Nick’s mind were vocal, he'd be shot dead on the spot so instead, he set his features to uncertainty.   _ Aslan, I know I only pray to get out of life-threatening situations but please let Doug be a genuine rube _ , he hoped, knowing that the ploy he and Judy used outside the sheriff’s office last night worked like a charm, and any other eavesdroppers were sent down a false trail, “Dawson…  _ Dawson _ …  Isn’t that a vacuum cleaner brand?”

The gun barrel jabbed harshly into the fox’s brow to earn a pained grunt, and with it a warning, “Maybe that jogged your memory.”  Doug pursed his lips and clenched his fist around the necktie when Nick clawed at the air with some pseudo-angry growls, “Is that supposed to scare me,  _ fox _ ?”

Nick laughed outwardly, “Silly sheep, those were  _ lion _ noises, not  _ fox _ noises,” and gave a double shot of finger guns with a suave click of his tongue to the narrowing pupils inside wider eyes.

Doug faced what his fighter’s instinct knew was another combatant and what his ears recognized as a low growl, fluidly pivoting and yanking the tethered fox around to use him as a hostage against whoever stood behind him.  Except… the necktie he clutched so securely whipped freely through the air with no fox (and no knot) on the other end and the owner of the low growl was not  _ standing _ but airborne with great, tawny mitts extended out for the sheep.  Quite crestfallen, Doug gawked at the nautical ton of grade-A prime lion hurdling towards him at breakneck speeds, but with no red-furred pain-in-the-neck to cushion the impending impact.  The firearm specialist’s combat reflexes loosed his third and final shot, and if he were not so unbalanced by the lack of weight he expected to have at the end of that tether, the air-powered dart would have struck true; as it was, it entered into Lanny’s mane and exited out the other side to collide harmlessly against the tent once more.

Tumbling back, Nick braced his shoulder against the grass to roll over it, legs and tail flipping overhead as he somersaulted and slid across the field of fallen leaflets.  Lifting his head eagerly, he watched the Lanny Express freight train stop off at Doug Ramses Junction… and barrel right on through to prepare for another, secondary pounce.  Nick’s momentary triumphant (which seemed an apt descriptor for most of his emotions lately…) collapsed when he saw no one else but Gideon gripping the end of Lanny’s tail in one paw and the Night Howler antidote injector in the other, sharing wholeheartedly his cousin’s abject terror as he unwillingly followed behind the lion bounding through the air.  Scamper though he tried (and try he certainly did), Nick stumbled and flailed in the pool of paper, only managing to lift his arms and brace himself for the end of the line…

The ground shook with its collision of leonine bulk.  A shadow loomed over Nick, engulfing him along with the heady scent of lion that did  _ not  _ coalesce into the dreaded avalanche of muscle and fur.  Green eyes peeked out through the laughable shield of his arms to find Lanny’s bright scarlets gazing down at him, curiously, distantly, and then moving to inspect what was just above Nick’s head.  The fox glanced to the scattered leaflets that seemed to stay the…  _ oddly _ acting lion, and then down along the underside of the poised figure up on his palms and toes.  Immediately behind him and between his feet was Gideon, prone and still holding the antidote injector; from the looks of it, he did not skid to a halt but rather dropped after colliding with wherever the tail was connected to on the body…

“Bangs,” Nick hissed.  Sparing a glimpse at the lion looking harder at a depiction of another member of its species (and thankful for what the curious growling implied), he then hissed again, “Bangs!”  When the other fox lifted his head, groggy, he peered first up at the denim haunches and reeled, before hearing his name and spotted Nick pointing an injector gesture with his paw, “Femoral artery!”  Gideon (bless his heart) did  _ not _ inject the antidote into the aforementioned artery but rather the nearest portion of anatomy he was sure he could properly aim for.  Regardless, it certainly did the trick as Lanny  _ mewl _ ed high, seized, and promptly crumpled onto the ground; and Nick.

“Stretch!” Gideon called, fortunate enough that Lanny fell  _ forward _ and so his backend propped up on the knees, allowing the baker to get away without any trouble.  He tossed the injector and rushed around to the front of the great tawny beast thrown for a considerable loop, crouching down to reach beneath his chest and drag the city-fox out with all due haste.  “Are you okay, Stretch? Speak t’ me!” he begged of the groaning fox, laying him out on the papers and grass and shaking his shoulders.

“Don’t kiss me again,” Nick weakly answered.

The stouter fox laughed with joy as he assisted his cousin into an upright position; while the taller fox rubbed his head, Gideon continued with a soft smack to the shoulder.  “Now why’d you do a fool thing like throw a rock at the tent, huh?” he berated with a choke, having scooted around in direct address and holding up his pinched fingers, “I was  _ this  _ close to givin’ Lanny the antidote but then he  _ springs _ up like a jackal-in-the-box.  It was all I could do to grab his tail before he  _ flies _ off.”

“Do  _ what _ ?” Nick grouched and rubbed his shoulder, “I didn’t ‘throw a rock’ at the tent, I got  _ him _ to shoot it,” he explained, flicking a frustrated paw at the unconscious sheep and his smashed firearm.

“That ain’t better!”

“Well, I was fighting for my life and there weren’t a lot of options available to me,” he complained, “And  _ why _ did Lanny need the Night Howler antidote, anyway?”

Gideon threw his paws up, “How would  _ I _ know?  I went to check on him and then I find the container that had the  _ really _ bad whipped cream in it, except it was licked  _ clean _ .”

“I thought you used it all?”

“No, I didn’t use  _ all _ of it; I saved some because it’s  _ evidence _ .”

Nick blinked in thought,  _ Does that mean a switch was made with the whipped cream in the sheriff’s office, as opposed to an emergency supply as I originally thought…?  _  He then put his face into both paws, “Good gravy… Lanny wanted whipped cream but  _ I _ was busy reporting to Chief Bogo, so I told  _ Bo _ to get him some,” and to Gideon’s incredulous frown, “The  _ non _ -toxic stuff, Bangs, c’mon.”

“He must’ve done it while I was so wrapped up in prepping all those pies…  Dumb bunny, I  _ told _ him which of the containers was bad stuff,” but stopped short as the color drained from his ears, and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Which were the ones that looked  _ diff’rent _ , not the one that looked exactly like the others.”

“Not that Bo would’ve known that,” Nick stated, joining in the grave realization.

“I set it aside in the fridge so that  _ I _ would know,” Gideon dully rationalized.

Both foxes stood and looked at the lion… whose legs then slipped out from under him to accomplish full prostration.

“This never happened,” Nick declared.

“What never happened?” Gideon agreed.

“We’ll explain what we can when he wakes up.”

“Sure, leaving a  _ lion _ out in the open for the Lookers to find is a good idea.”

“And I didn’t think to pack my forklift…  Okay, go fill up that bucket from the spigot and bring it over,” Nick instructed.

“And what’re  _ you _ gonna do?” Gideon asked.

“I’m going to break my record for the number of sheep hogtied in a single day,” and rolled up his sleeves on the way over to Doug Ramses.

Luckily for Nick, he needn’t improvise the bindings, what with the spare coils of rope sitting behind each tent.  Practicing caution not to leave pawprints, he then scooped up the remains of the ram’s weapon (which he recognized as the same model used in the Pred-Scare),  _ carefully _ searched his wool for anything else hidden, and stashed it all in a  Trader Doe’s reusable shopping bag that was tucked under a seat in the van.  As a final touch, Nick twisted a cloth and used it to gag the ram.   _ It’s good to use some proper equipment but I could’ve done better with zip ties or handcuffs, _ he thought smugly, clapping his palms together.

After retrieving his tie and fastening it in all due properness, Nick turned towards the tent to find Gideon standing with the bucket of water and a smile… of severe awkwardness, since he was flanked by a mortified Mr. Barley and a bewildered Bo (once more wearing the glow-in-the-dark sunglasses he forgot to get back).  Nick chuckled and shrugged endearingly, “I can explain…?”

“Please,  _ do _ !” the older rabbit demanded, marching closer.

Caught somewhere between the victim, a police officer, and being caught red-pawed, Nick indeed explained, “Well,  _ he _ came at me with a gun, you see, and Lanny -- the friend we told you about -- heard the scuffle and came out to show what for, but he’s still…  _ recovering _ from last night, as we said, and that’s what Gideon has the water for.”  Mr. Barley’s scowling disapproval (not unlike a specific, larger, bluer face of authority) urged Nick to present his evidence, so he swiped the grocery tote bag to give it a light shake and demonstrate that there was something inside.

Glimpsing within, the Watch leader’s ears sprung as he tugged the bag open a bit farther, “By jove… this firearm isn’t even  _ available  _ to the public… it’s  _ barely _ available to the sheriff’s office!  Mr. Wilde, you and your friends must be the most  _ foolhardy  _ mammals I’ve ever encountered… but certainly, also some the  _ luckiest _ .  You, as an officer of the ZPD, know the kind of damage and mayhem this firearm is capable of; it’s what instigated the Pred-Scare, after all,” he said with a worried huff.  “This, without a doubt, warrants reporting  _ directly _ to Sheriff Longmare,” and pulled a walkie-talkie from his utility belt, “Per protocol, I’ll need to meet her at the gate but I cannot simply leave the three of you by your lonesome, that would be  _ irresponsible _ on my part.  I’ll call in another member of the Watch-”

Nick’s fur spiked on his nape at the prospect of having to explain himself  _ again _ , and laughed anxiously as he glanced to either of his other conspirators for assistance, “I wouldn’t want to cause you any  _ more _ trouble than I already have…”

“No trouble at all, Mr. Wilde, it’s my  _ duty _ to keep the peace for  _ all _ of Bunnyburrow; including foxes and lions,” he assured with a smile.

“I volunteer, sir!” Bo chimed in, if not as calmly as he would’ve liked.

All eyes were on the earthen rabbit again as the Watch leader turned in address, “Are you  _ sure _ , Bo?  You know the tractor pull can’t start without you.  And you don’t have your gear or even a reliable form of communication,” he gestured with a waggle of the walkie-talkie’s antenna.

“Sir, Article 8.3b of the Burrow Watch protocol  _ clearly _ states that ‘in the event direct contact with the sheriff is warranted … the  _ nearest _ , next highest ranking member of the Watch…’” Bo recited.

“Don’t quote protocol to  _ me _ , young buck,” Mr. Barley huffed but could not hide the pride in his voice as he harrumphed in consideration, “Very well, if you’re willing to postpone your anticipated test of strength, then I can hardly deny your devotion to duty.  But for goodness sake,  _ Mr. Briar _ , you’re representing the Watch; tuck in your shirt and pull up your shorts!  What haven’t you a belt?” he chastised to a rueful shrug. “I guess it can’t be helped right now.  You at  _ least _ have your Burrow Watch identification on you, I hope,” Mr. Barley implicated with continued antenna waggling, to which Bo promptly pulled out his wallet and the aforementioned ID card.  “Thank Heaven for little miracles, then.  _ You _ will keep an eye on Mr. Wilde, Mr. Grey, and Mr…” he then asked of the foxes, “I’m sorry, what was your friend’s name?”

“‘Wild’,” Gideon answered.

“No, the lion.”

“From his dad’s side of the family,” he then laughed, pointing to Nick.

“He’s also a ‘Wild’, but without the ‘e’,” Nick explained casually, “You know, like Sam Wild… although I’m unsure if there’s any relation, I’ve not heard him sing yet, but if he  _ were _ …  No, I doubt he’d be juggling crates down at Lion’s Gate if he came from money,” and turned around to look at Lanny, paws on his hips, “Okay, I remember him, now.”

Gideon also turned after setting down the bucket of water, leaving the bunnies out of their conversation, “You really  _ do _ know ev’rybody, don’tcha?”

“Well, not directly.  Finnick and I tried selling larger Pawpsicles to larger mammals, and the first trial run was to a bunch of sweaty dockworkers, which I can now say with certainty Lanny was amongst the throngs of.  We used the pawprint of a tiger friend of mine from grade school to make them -- the guy has  _ huge _ honkin’ paws -- but while they were popular, the logistics wouldn’t work out…  And the foremammal was a lioness that, though young, acted like she could’ve pinned any of the workers to the ground in a tussle, and she wasn’t willing to look the other way, so…”

Mr. Barley cleared his throat loudly.

“So…” Nick spun about, “What were we talking about?”

“Bo’s kitsitting us,” Gideon reminded after about facing.

“Goody!” the taller fox beamed at Bo and clapped his paws together, “Is it almost nap time, yet?  Because I could  _ really _ go for-”

Mr. Barley cleared his throat  _ louder _ .

“Sorry, I cannot brain today, I have the dumb,” Nick extrapolated in stoic professionalism, “Don’t mind me.”

“You’re certainly an odd one, Mr. Wilde,” he observed at a sidelong glance before putting the walkie-talkie to his mouth with its characteristic cough of activation.  The Watch leader proceeded to speak in a long, quick string of back-and-forth radio codewords (which Bo recognized, Nick might’ve if he bothered to listen to all of it, and Gideon didn’t in the least) before he was patched through to the recognizable voice of the sheriff (and what was no doubt her radio call sign).  “Watchtower to Zero-One: hightail it,  T igger- B other- R abbit, over,” urged Mr. Barley.

The horse’s patience was laced with exasperation that subtly strained at her professionalism, “Watchtower, we already agreed that I don’t need to go out there short of fire or anything else life-endangering.  Over.”

“I really  _ must _ insist, Zero-One, I’m here with Mr.-” and cleared his throat with a quiet self-reprimand, “I mean…  _ Officer _ Wilde and-”

“Nurse Wild,” Nick whispered, pointing a thumb at Lanny.

“ _ Nurse _ Wild, over.”

“Wilde’s  _ there _ ?  Have him call me, over,” she said, professionalism back in full force.

“The fox or the lion, over?”

“The  _ fox _ , Watchtower, over and  _ out _ ,” and then the radio crackled decisively.

Nick cringed as he pulled up Rachel’s number from his phone logs, having called her the previous evening when Grav came by the bakery in a wholly unfriendly manner, and then snapped to his own professional front to greet, “Zero-One, this is Wilde,” to which Gideon bit back a snicker, “Over.”

“I’ll say,” agreed Longmare over the speaker, “Is Gideon there?”

“I’m here!”  The stouter fox rushed over and leaned on his cousin’s shoulder, “Is Essy there?”

“She’s with Deputy Catmull and also has her phone, so give her a call.”

“Yes, I will!” the baker declared, and then quietly said, “‘Scuse me,” with a clap to Nick’s back to walk off and pull out his own mobile device.

“Esther already briefed me on your activities, Nick, and I also heard from Chief Bogo,” Rachel explained with heavy implication, although the state of her mood was expertly hidden by a stony tone, “We’ll forgo an official statement for the time being, but I’m  _ assuming  _ you have something you can report.”

“ _ Yes _ , about that,” Nick began, as he turned towards the still unconscious sheep and removed his cap, “I ran into the third member of our little flock: Doug Ramses.  He used the Lookers as a cover to slip out of Preds’ Corner and tracked Gideon and myself down to the TBR; he brought along some serious heat to finish the job.”

“Doug Ramses?” Longmare (and Barley) repeated with a momentary slip of professionalism, “Holy horsefeathers…”

“My gut tells me he was the spotter for…” and looking once to Mr. Barley and Bo, he bit the bullet, “for the Gravedigger.”  The older rabbit went pale and the younger rabbit nauseous, after leaning in to disprove his own doubts.

“Nick,” Longmare continued slowly, “we found the building you described, and thanks to a Preds’ Corner resident, confirmed that a wolf in a trenchcoat and fedora carrying a long, metal case walked into it between 1 and 3AM this morning…  While we found the room used to snipe the Greys’ house and two distinct scents leading up to it -- a wolf’s and a ram’s -- only the ram went inside; so if the wolf entered it wasn’t for very long,  _ certainly _ not long enough for the phone call to take place.”

Nick glanced over at a gleeful, relieved, and out-of-earshot Gideon, who then waved and pointed at his phone with a broad grin, to which he paid a thumbs-up.  When able, the taller fox glared down at the sheep and coldly bristled, “That means it was Doug who shot at Gideon.”

“We came to the same conclusion,” Longmare soberly concurred, “We’ll know for certain when Clawhauser gets back to us with the voice analysis.  The Gravedigger is in the wind, but this is still the closest anyone’s  _ ever _ been on his tail.”

“No, I don’t suppose he would have lingered for too long, and with his head start, he could easily be back in the city by now.  Were there any other sightings?”

“Negative,” she grunted, “Phil Octaves saw him enter the building, but wasn’t awake long enough to see him leave.”

“Wait,  _ Phil _ is your source on this?” Nick asked curiously and incredulously,  _ I suppose running a watering hole in a predator community makes weird hours for a prey, but yeesh. _

“He’s always cooperated with the sheriff’s office, and never hesitated to let us know about trouble in Preds’ Corner.  Phil didn’t call earlier because he hardly believed it was who he thought he saw, figuring it was a relative or friend of a resident.  Honestly, I can’t say I blame him, but he  _ did _ come forward when he found out we were looking for suspicious activity.  Regardless, let Barley know that I’m on my way to the TBR now,” and shifted gears to an authoritative tone (what many recognize as the “Mom Voice”), “And  _ you _ , Wilde, will stay  _ put _ until I arrive.  Are we  _ clear _ ?”

“Y-yes!  Ma’am!” Nick jumped, “Yes, Ma’am.  Loud and clear. Roger that. Over and out,” and ended the phone call by shoving the device back into his pocket.

“ _ Ooh _ , someone’s in trou~ble,” an adjacent Gideon mocked.

“If that’s the thanks I get for saving your tail, Bangs, consider the next threat on your life  _ none _ of my concern.”

Mr. Barley came upon them like a swarm of hornets to an apt reaction from either fox, “Mr.  _ Wilde _ , how can you say such a thing,  _ especially _ in light of everything that’s just happened?” he lambasted with a waggle of the walkie-talkie’s antenna.  His ear then heeded Bo’s whispering behind a cupped paw, “What?” he said, still riled but settling some, “ _ ‘Bantering’ _ ?   _ Now _ , of all times?” and then grunted at the continued, hushed exposition while simultaneously rubbing his chin and securing the two-way radio.  He kept his eyes on both Nick and Gideon, even though he likely addressed Bo, “Fortune smiles on the Watch to have a ready member so knowledgeable in the ways of foxes; stars above, I know  _ I _ wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with the two of you,” and straightened his weather-beaten cap.  “I’ll return with Sheriff Longmare as soon as I can, and when I do I’ll  _ expect _ to see your friend acquiring appropriate medical attention and this mess of papers  _ cleaned up _ ,” came the ultimatum, grabbing the grocery tote with the broken gun inside, “Hopefully, I’m not gone  _ so _ long as to allow another catastrophe,” and departed through the tent.  Not even Nick, with his mastery of reading others, could determine whether Mr. Barley spoke in sarcasm.

 

**_(A Successful Test)_ **

The earthen rabbit raised a single finger to hold the initiating responses from either fox (snark, no doubt) and flicked his ears towards the Watch leader’s absence.  After his eyes rolled one away and the other to mimic his ears’ radar-like swivel, he nodded the "all-clear" before looking down to untuck and smooth his tank top.  Bo’s ears sprung high again to the foxes then flanking him over either shoulder.

“‘Knowledgeable in the ways of foxes’, he said,” Nick cooed.

“‘Fortune smiles’ on more than jus’ the Watch, methinks,” Gideon cooed.

Bo lunged forward and away from them to spin about and brush at both his ears, “ _ Jeez _ , creepy!” he accused with a roll of his shoulders, shrugging off the jolly laughter (and fighting back the urge to join in).  When they both quieted, he pointed at the hogtied sheep, “Level with me, Gloves, is that  _ really _ the sniper from the Pred-Scare?”

“ _ That _ guy?” Gideon said, who then recalled, “You mean that copycat Chief Bogo told me about, Doug Something?” and gave him a wide berth on his way to pick up the bucket of water.

Nick came around to stand over the something-named ram.  “First off, since  _ when _ have you been part of the Burrow Watch?” he asked the rabbit.

“A few years now,” he said, “What, did you think I dug up rocks for a living?”

“Honestly, yes,” a kindly answer informed bemused passivity, “ _ Now _ I shall cast light upon your well-founded doubt, with the knowledge that -- yes -- this is the one and only sniper from the Pred-Scare; I should know, ‘twas Judy and I which revealed him.  He’s lived in hiding for the past year, but I suppose this job was too juicy to pass up, especially if vengeance played into his motivation.”

“And I heard Rachel say the Gravedigger got away again,” Gideon grunted with a shiver and hoisted the bucket to prepare a thorough dousing of the still recovering Lanny (though no one yet noticed that his paws had tucked in as if asleep).

“Is… that the part you came in on?” Nick wondered aloud.

“Ayeup; but I have full trust that the sheriff’s office or the ZPD can catch that  _ scoundrel _ , and hang ‘im by his tail for what he did to me and my family,” the baker announced, and reared his arms back…

_ Hoo boy… _ Green eyes exchanged a glance with hazel.  “Actually, it’s  _ Doug _ here that shot at you,” Nick corrected, though not with the same icy pitch in his voice as when he first said it.

Gideon tried to yell his incredulity but only managed to choke on his distress, whipping around in such a manner that as his paws released the metal bucket, it unleashed not only its contents but the entirety of the thing on the unsuspecting lion.  What followed was a series of quick, loud yells of sequential surprise from all involved (except Nick, whose laughter was most hysterical and barely muted). The bucket upended when Lanny’s head shot up, deluging his face, neck, and over the bed of discarded missing mammal leaflets.  Suffice to say, he was wide awake.

The lion’s mane was matted against his skull as he rose to a crouch, eyes wide and nostrils flaring while spurting out water and scanning the immediate area (seemingly blind for the moment to the smaller mammals, like the stout fox that fell back on his tail) and then ducked lower as his eyes stared skyward, paw up against the sun to search for…  _ something _ .  It wasn’t until his breath regulated that he, at last, spotted the others nearby.

“Lanny,” Nick calmed after he swallowed back his last chortle, “How are we feeling?”

Tawny ears flicked as he wiped the water from his face and mane, huffing and sighing as he did, flopping back… only to jump again to realize he sat in something wet and so instead squatted in place.  With an elbow at one knee and his eyes rubbed tenderly, he did at last speak, “Better, now that the clouds stopped talking. Why  _ am _ I wet?” he sincerely asked, and made to pull off the soaked shirt only to brush the spot on his head where the bucket hit and hissed, “Ow…”

“So far as Mr. Barley will be concerned, the bucket of water was ‘appropriate medical treatment’, but before I answer in  _ full _ , I have to clarify a few things,” the taller fox said and then turned to the no-longer-as-startled rabbit, “Can you say with certainty that there’s no one in the vicinity that might be able to… eavesdrop at a distance?”

“Umm…” he replied, ears once more swiveling, “No, there  _ shouldn’t _ be.  This entire row of tents is pretty much empty, used only for storage and as a border for the fairgrounds, or as an easy-access throughway, like when we had to bring in the Ferris wheel.  I was a bit surprised Gid’s stall was here, to begin with, but they said they needed the extra space to hold the contest, and everywhere else was already full.”

“But… there were  _ names _ on those tents, weren’t there?” Gideon inquired as he stood up, and then grimaced when he found out that his own jeans were damp from the bucket of water that spilled everywhere.  He proceeded to pick up the wet sheets of paper as Lanny shucked his shirt to give it a quick wring and flap.

Bo chuckled and waved his paw dismissively, “Inside joke for us fair-workers,” and then pointed a thumb at the nearest tent (and its dislodged tent wall which Lanny burst out of), “That one’s for ‘Tom A. Topaste’,” he laughed.

“Stretch,  _ you _ said those dummy tents had a sinister purpose,” the baker accused with a fist full of moist paper, “Darn near gave me a heart attack!”

“The Burrow Watch leader is named ‘Barley’; how is ‘Tom A. Topaste’  _ not _ an actual name?” he rebutted, “Besides, it’s  _ Judy _ you should direct your-”

“Nick,” Lanny said sternly, shirt slung over one arm as he attempted to wring out his cropped mane, as well.

“Right, sorry, you were-”

“C’mere.”

“…Why?”

“Just c’mere,” the lion ushered, and then the rabbit elbowed, to which the taller fox complied in reluctance.  The resident nurse’s tender mitts cradled Nick’s face, leaning in to closely examine the droop of his eyelids and the pulse of his neck.  “Nick, you’re  _ exhausted _ , and honestly, it’s a wonder you’re still standing.  When was the last time you slept?”

“Do daydreams of a cotton candy mattress count?  If not, then it’d have to be…” and paused, "t his morning?  Unless ‘unconscious while kidnapped’ isn’t a viable option, either, medically speaking.   Saturday night, probably.  There might’ve been a lot of strenuous activity since then, now that I think about it, but I’ll be sure to cut back on that from here on out.”

“You need  _ rest _ .”

“That’d be  _ great _ , since I’m running on sugar and good intentions right now, and I’m about out of the latter.  So, let’s be brief: Bangs doused you with water to get you out of your haze from the whipped cream Bo gave you-”

“I didn’t give him the toxic stuff, though!” Bo cut in.

“Ain’t your fault, Bo, it’s  _ mine _ ,” Gideon immediately answered, shoving wet paper into a trash bag he pulled from his van, “I only said which was the bad whipped cream I made this morning but nothing about the  _ really _ bad stuff that looked like the good stuff; so tha’s on me.”

“Oh jeez, is  _ that  _ what I ate…?” a shocked Lanny asked, falling back onto his seat again only to jump up at the reminder that the ground was still wet; so he stepped out from the paper to walk over to the van with a clap of his jeans and a frustrated grumble… and then noticed the bound-and-gagged ram.  “As an upstanding citizen, I feel inclined to ask…” and trailed off, looking pointedly at the smaller mammals.

Nick took lead as he directed a lazy finger at the ram, “Doug Ramses; I trust my fellow city-pred recognizes the name?”

Lanny blanched, “Wow,  _ umm… _  Well, if it’s all the same to you, I wouldn’t mind knowing why he’s  _ here _ …?”

“Hired to ensure that this little scheme followed through by threatening Gideon to stretch out the remaining Night Howler drug, which included kidnapping Judy, Esther and I as leverage,” Nick explained and then couldn’t help but chuckle and smirk as his paws went to his hips, “Actually, it’s rather karmic, considering it’s  _ his _ dark deeds that led to his own defeat.”

Gideon’s ears went up as a triumphant grin spread across his snout, “Hah!  I  _ knew _ he was gonna get his!”

Nick strutted over and clapped as high up on Lanny’s physique as he could reach, “Our tawny torpedo here pounced him in his intoxicated stupor, thanks to some expert set-up from yours truly.”

The lion flinched, ears pinned back, “I  _ pounced _ him?” he said, and proceeded into the instincts of his profession on approach with a nervous whisk of his tail, “He’s not  _ crippled _ or anything, I hope…?”

“I’m fine,” Doug grunted around his gag, to which the other four sprung back as though he’d caught fire.  He was still on his side, facing the adjacent tire of the van, and shuffled a bit to strain against his bindings only to wince in pain.

Once again, lead was placed squarely on Nick’s shoulders and he took it in stride as the ram craned his neck to peer back, “You have a lot to answer for, Ramses,” he said inasmuch professionalism as he could still scrape together, untying the gag so that the sheep could smack his lips, “Now, while I’m just an off-duty cop, Bo here is a member of the Burrow Watch and all that entails, so you’ll be happy to know that Sheriff Longmare is en route to haul off your sorry seat cushion.”

“Yippee.”  Doug flopped his head back down on the grass in an uncomfortable huff.  “There’s an injector under the van… a  _ Hexward _ injector,” and peered over his shoulder again, “What’s it for?”

Nick shot a look at both Gideon and Lanny as they sounded ready to answer (the latter pulling his head back through his shirt but otherwise attentive), and then shoved both paws into his pockets, “What’s it to  _ you _ ?”

“Professional curiosity.  You know my involvement with  _ midnicampum holicithias _ , Wilde, and I’m guessing  _ that’s _ for the antidote.  So, what was it for?”

“Hey!” Gideon barked and jabbed a finger through the air, filled with confidence in the current circumstances, “ _ You _ said you don't like to repeat yerself!”

“I  _ don’t _ ,” the ram retorted, glaring in deep significance, and then looked to Nick again, “Could you turn me over?  I’m getting a crick in my neck, and,” he groaned, “I think I sprained something.”

“ _ Nick _ ,” Lanny beseeched after a disapproving grunt from the fox, “I’m a nurse, I’ve dealt with criminals before and they get busted up the same as innocents.”  At an allowing gesture paired with a sigh and a step back, the lion neared to kneel down, checking neck, limbs, and joints for anything out of the ordinary.  The swift nurse presented his diagnosis of the raptly staring ram: “Some bruising and-” Doug clenched his jaw to stifle a pained scream after Lanny popped “a dislocated shoulder,” back into place, “but otherwise okay.”

“Ow.”

“You’re welcome,” the lion said after sitting his patient up against the van and retrieving the injector, thankful though he was that it didn’t break.  He inspected it with a weary sigh that he would need to document its use, much as he needed to when used on Judy the night before, and trudged back to the tent in which he spent the morning to return the implement to the hospital case it came in (though still at a low profile, so that his head wouldn’t bob over the tops of the tents).

With a tug of his ear and a pointing gesture, Nick directed a complying Bo to stand watch and let them know if anyone (like Sheriff Longmare, as a nonspecific example) approached.  “Alright, now that you’re comfy, let’s see what you’re willing to talk about without any  _ official _ authority in earshot.”

“Bite me.”

“Tempting.”

He nodded at the stouter fox, “I’ll talk to  _ him _ .”

“ _ Hah _ ,” Nick denied, “I’m not falling for that.”

Doug held a full beat.  “I’ll bet it was awfully quiet after the ‘contest’ today.   _ Too _ quiet.  I’ll tell Gideon why.”

“Oh, so I’m ‘Gideon’ now, am I?” he accused, twiddling fingers moving to, instead, arms crossed on a square-shouldered chest.

A quiet shrug responded.  “I only called you ‘Gunky’ to elicit a reaction, and it worked.  Now, I’m sure you foxes want to hear my thoughts on the ‘contest’, and I’ll tell  _ Gideon _ all about it.”

Nick exchanged disapproving grunts with his fellow fox.

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere… until the sheriff gets here,” Doug said.

Green eyes stared hard beneath a sharp-edged brow, “Don’t forget that your previous offer is still on the table,” he warned through his vorpal ivories.  Shifting to practiced nonchalance, Nick squatted before Doug and braced his knees, staring him dead in the eyes with a thoughtful jutting of his jaw. “You don’t need to talk to tell me everything,” he began, “I figured it out days ago that this  _ con _ test was a  _ drug _ test, which you no doubt wanted to know the results of.  Yes, I  _ do _ know about your expertise with chemistry -- specifically, poisons and toxins -- and in recent history, Night Howler; it’s likely why Magnus brought you into this.

“You forced Gideon to make _more_ of it, though, and no doubt a scientist like yourself would want to inspect the goods before the… shall we call it an ‘experiment’?  Well, can’t get to it if you want to maintain the illusion of _being_ the Gravedigger, but you must also know that even a humble baker would have the understanding of ratios that a chemist might, if not on the same level of _nitty_ and _gritty_ ,” he stood and half-pivoted, paws on his hips.  Nick looked first to the returned Lanny (and his antidote case from Preds’ Corner General Hospital), and then spoke to Gideon, “Tell me, Bangs, what happened after you finished making all the whipped cream this morning?”

The stouter fox bristled, “I patched up the window  _ he _ shot through and then waited by the phone for him to see me, and then he asked me about the  _ ratios _ in a right tiff.  Made all sorts of threats on Essy’s well-being,” he harrumphed.

“You cried,” Doug reminded.

“You don’t get to gloat!”

“Easy there, cous’, we need him alive,” Nick placated, “for the time being, anyway.  What happened next?”

Gideon opened his mouth to answer with righteous indignation, “He said I  _ ‘diluted’ _ it too much, but I told him that…” and stopped to withdraw in dawning, silencing guilt as he remembered what all he said in that conversation… realizing what the ram’s icy, victorious gaze meant.  “I… I told him…” and his mouth shut as he rubbed an arm and gnawed a quivering lip, “I… I’m sorry, Stretch, I didn’t  _ mean _ to…”

“…Bangs?” he asked, and put a paw to his cousin’s shoulder, “What happened?”

“It j-jus’…  _ slipped _ out, I-I-I didn’t know what else to  _ do _ …”

Lanny turned to look over his shoulder and down along the border of tents, “Is that the sheriff’s cruiser…?”  It seemed his concern was shared by Bo bounding out of the tent, ears high and twitching, who likely heard the vehicle, as well.

“Bangs, it’s okay, we’ll get through this  _ together _ , I just need you to tell me what you  _ did _ ,”  Nick urged as he one-armed hugged Gideon and patted his chest to quell the tremble of his chin, “I promise I won’t get mad at you; cross my heart.”

The stouter fox softly whined as he buried his face into his palms, “I told him what happened when Judy ate the whipped cream…”

“Physically average for a rabbit, recent history of depression…” Doug pointed out in a smug deadpan, “An ideal candidate with the necessary, anticipated results… and she’s already gathered up.  Who knew?”

“I-I-I’m so  _ sorry _ …”

“No one wasted their time on this contest except  _ you _ -” the sniper began but was cut off in an instant, eyes wide and pupils narrow as he sat up in an electric flinch, catching his breath to gawk at the pearly whites and savage greens mere inches from his face.

“You do  _ not _ get to gloat,” Nick coldly warned, leaning in with one paw bracing the side of the van, the other perched on a hip near a whisking, bushy tail.

Doug stared, chest rising and falling in a rapidly slowing tempo before his eyes settled, and finally spoke after a long, tense moment, “…Or  _ what _ , fox?  You and your pred friends will tear me to bits, I guess.  I’m sure if you tell the sheriff that I hurt your cousin’s feelings, she’ll understand why you’re covered in bloody wool.”

“ _ Nick _ ,” a deeply worried Lanny whispered, whose training in the medical field could not prepare him for such a situation that he found himself, so instead did what he could to comfort a distraught Gideon, “Sheriff Longmare’s almost here, just let it go and she’ll take care of him.”

“Yeah,  _ Nick _ ,” the ram said, even leaning his head far enough forward that they could feel each other’s breath.

Keeping his eyes trained on his quarry, Nick then closed them and inhaled a lungful through his nose, before letting it all out in a long exhale with contemplative claws drumming on the van, and so stood with his paws behind his back.  “While my fangs  _ are _ quite deadly, they are not my  _ sharpest  _ features,” he stated, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I could smell the wolf on you and it’s  _ far _ more than simple association, which leads me to one of two conclusions, although they are not mutually exclusive: you’re either his lover, or you’re a copycat beyond method and  _ dress up  _ like him, complete with coat, fedora, and a cheap wolf costume, along with too much  _ parfum de loup _ .  I rather wonder that, if we scoured Preds’ Corner, we’ll find a long, metal case stashed somewhere with your little outfit tucked inside,” he chafed, and then inclined to the ram, “along with all kinds of useful information about what you're doing here and who hired you.  You know, using someone else’s reputation is no doubt a great way to get high-profile assassination jobs, doubly so if  _ they _ allow it so to keep the legend alive while lying low.  Just thinking aloud.  Either way, it’s plain to me now how you might be associated with Tad Wooler and all his proclivities.

“So, unless the next thing you have to say is that I’m  _ wrong _ , don’t bother responding,” the fox suggested after another tense silence, grinning at the deep red, almost purple hue of the usually stoic ram staring daggers back at him.  Nick then turned on a heel to greet the sheriff alongside his fellow conspirators, tail swiping at Doug’s face only to miss it by a hair’s breadth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tycho King and his trio of hyenas are based on Scar, Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed from "The Lion King". Scar's real name, as I understand it, is "Taka" (meaning garbage, I think).
> 
> "Tigger-Bother-Rabbit" is part of Zootopia's radio alphabet and do, indeed, draw from "Winnie the Pooh characters". In this world, Winston Poohbear is a beloved writer of classic children's stories, historically recognized not only for his whimsical and wholesome tales but his good heart, soft body, and love of honey.
> 
> Additionally, "Watchtower" and "Zero-One" are actual radio callsigns, namely the of "Zero-One" for whoever's in charge. The important thing to keep in mind with callsigns (and radio-talk in general) is that whatever's said is heard by everyone (so direct names of individuals, like the Watch members, are avoided) but cannot be easily confused for other words.
> 
> My idea for Ramses here is drawn from the artbook and one of the original story ideas for Zootopia. In that idea, a sheep binds up their wool and puts on the iconic trenchcoat and hat to resemble a wolf (a la, reversing the "wolf in sheep's clothing" idiom); they intended to cause trouble and frame it on the wolves (the idea was scrapped for over-complexity but methinks they revamped it for the movie). I've adapted it as you see here.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	20. Chapter 20

Of the afternoon, it teetered on the cusp betwixt “the end of the beginning” and “the beginning of the middle”, when TBR-attending families were finishing up their lunchtime rests in renewed vigor for the rest of the day’s itinerary.  Nick was given no such quarter as he, Bo, Gideon, and Lanny were each grilled to respectively, exponentially different degrees by Sheriff Rachel Longmare since they “should have known better”, if in their own ways.

From the least grilled, Lanny Wild knew he was in for a  _ thorough _ decapitation by way of a set of jaws belonging to Dr. Madge Honey-Badger, head of medicine at Preds’ Corner General Hospital.  The lion was excused to return to his truck and forgotten cell phone, dreading the past few hours he spent removed from its means of communication.  Thankfully, he parked  _ away _ from the TBR and needn’t walk through it or the brewing crowd of onlookers (and Lookers) drawn by the sheriff’s cruiser.  So, he bid the foxes and rabbit a morose but fond farewell as he secured his case of Night Howler antidote and first aid kit to toddle off.

Moving along the chain, Gideon Grey looked a criminal condemned as he gazed up at Rachel, from whom he only received a heavy sigh and a piteous look, unsure as she seemed what to actually reprimand him  _ with _ that he wasn’t already feeling guilty of.  After all, he’d previously spoken with Esther and their over-the-phone reunion  _ must’ve _ had him in high spirits, so whatever occurred since then was undoubtedly harsh.  The horse did what she could to ensure that the kidnappers would be brought to justice, and more likely than not, transferred to the city for their trial, while the voyeur involved would be processed in Bunnyburrow.

Instead, it was Bo Briar’s turn to get a substantial earful from the Burrow Watch leader, to which Longmare gladly allocated such responsibility… even if Mr. Barley’s primary concerns were that a member of the Watch followed better protocol whenever he spontaneously volunteered for duty (i.e., to tuck his shirt in and carry his utility belt).  However, according to Mr. Barley, in light of the circumstances and the “young buck’s” prior obligation to the TBR, some allowances for “casual service” must be permitted. Regardless, Mrs. Parsnippet was awaiting his initiation of the tractor pull, and unless he wanted a truly devastating dressing-down, he would hightail it over to the event posthaste (even though he was still tasked with “kitsitting”).

Finally, Officer Nick Wilde faced Sheriff Rachel Longmare.  Her arms were crossed. His paws were at his sides. She clopped twice at the dirt before “requesting” his official report.  He was “brief”. With Doug Ramses secured in the back of her cruiser and the broken military-grade weapon (along with the slew of hidden implements extracted from the ram’s wool) in the front seat, Longmare listened while Officer Legrande jotted everything down.  Nick explained the Night Howler (and how the evidence was somehow swiped from the sheriff’s office before accidentally fed to Lanny -- Rachel’s saintly patience vibrated in its strain when she stared daggers at the note-taking, bullet-sweating giraffe), the activities of Dent and Tad Wooler, his suspicions about Doug Ramses disguised as the Gravedigger, (what he told Mr. Barley and what it  _ meant _ , although only doing so when said rabbit was grilling his junior Watch member), and Judy being held in Knotash.  Longmare broke her stoicism only to direct the badged giraffe to “Write it down; yes,  _ all _ of it”, in a tone perhaps less befitting of someone in her station.  Upon finishing, Nick felt ready to collapse but remained standing as he looked up at Rachel.

Rachel looked down at Nick, knowing that even with all the fox’s cleverness and insight all he presented were suspicions and circumstantial evidence.  Enough for a warrant, and Mr. Barley already had the means to fast-track a response from the rabbit community, but as it was, she knew well that her hooves were tied.  Knotash was  _ so _ far out of her jurisdiction, and certainly, Chief Bogo would do everything in his power to get one of his officers back, but the cost of living in a lawful society was abiding by it, and they did what they could to operate within its framework (vigilantism notwithstanding).  On top of everything else, Longmare had  _ three _ criminals threatening to shake the peace of both Bunnyburrow and Horseshire… but even then, in her own sphere of influence, she was beholden to delay public announcement or legal processing for at  _ least _ a day, so beseeched by key junior members of the Tri-Burrow Reunion Board -- which was odd, since it was custom for Reginald Hopps, a senior member, to interact directly with the sheriff on such matters, much like Mr. Barley and the Burrow Watch.

The disciplined bunnies of the Burrow Watch handled crowd control, keeping bystanders out of earshot, easier done since the yellow-striped tent was kept erect (at least for the time being), and ushered them along towards the rest of the Reunion so that the sheriff’s office could do its duty.  As an empathic act before she left, Rachel handed Nick a bag of his clothes that Esther gathered up when Preds’ Corner was canvassed earlier (she remained with Deputy Catmull, however, so that she could give a full, official report in the case against Magnus Hopps). Nick expressed his gratitude and bid her a good day in the best way he knew how: with as little snark as foxily possible.

* * *

Ducking into the still empty tent to change, Nick sighed inwardly as he looked over at Gideon sulking in a nearby corner; he then appreciated the coincidence that it was the same tent in which  _ Bo _ was forlorn over the idea that he’d lost Judy forever, but figured that jumping on Gideon’s shoulders wouldn’t help matters in the same way.  Before removing anything, he looked through the bag provided at whatever ensemble Esther pieced together for him from his suitcase:  _ Lessee… the shirt I got from Tim & Bob’s charity luau that I packed for some reason…  What else… Umm, right, tight jeans aren’t the best thing to wear after an eating contest of any kind, but okay…  Wait, this fanny-pack isn’t mine…? _   And when he opened it up to peek inside, _ My furbrush, how thoughtful… a handkerchief, sunglasses, and a single dried peach slice,  _ which he took out of its plastic baggy to pop into his mouth before searching the remainder of the care package,  _ What, no necktie?  I will need to speak with Esther about her perspective on fash- Oh, score, my lucky red rocketship shorts!  These’ll bring the whole outfit together for sure _ , and so loosened the borrowed tie to slip it out from the then popped collar.

“You’re awfully sad for having just helped catch one of the worst criminals in this city’s history,” he commended over his shoulder, but when no response came, he reiterated, “I  _ said _ -”

“I didn’t help  _ nuthin _ ’…” the stouter fox grumbled.

_ Here we go, again, _ the taller fox thought as he unbuttoned his shirt,  _ A lifetime of self-doubt won’t go away overnight, I guess _ , “There was no possible way you could’ve known what ‘Graves’ was really up to,” he began, “and did him knowing  _ really _ change anything?  No, it didn’t, because Judy’s still kidnapped and, in the big picture, whether they want to kill or inflict mad science on her doesn’t change the fact that she’ll escape at her earliest convenience.”

“ _ You  _ woulda known…” Gideon argued, “ _ Jude _ woulda known…  _ Essy _ woulda known… ev’ryone ‘cept  _ me _ coulda got outta that without handin’ over their friend to a buncha psychos…”

Nick pulled the undershirt over his head and gave his upper self a shake before retrieving the furbrush that Esther so kindly provided, and then began correcting the state of his pelt.  “You give yourself too little credit.”

“Mr.  _ Foxglove _ woulda known…” he continued, straying from neither his rhythm nor tone of self-admonishment.

_ Jeez Luiz…  _ “Mr. Foxglove is a  _ fictional _ character,” Nick groaned, smoothing out the fur on his head and neck that he so thoroughly upheaved earlier, “And he’s psychic, or something, making split-second reactions that  _ no _ one can do in the real world, even though his stories are quote/unquote, ‘hard science fiction’.  It’s fun, don’t get me wrong, but if you want a  _ real-world  _ fox to base yourself off of, I suggest me, and there’s a simple reason why: I’m amazing.  That said, I doubt even  _ I _ could have gotten out of a sniper’s scope unscathed… as it so happens, I  _ didn’t _ , and neither did Judy or Esther.  Of the four of us,  _ you’re _ the only one that was shot at but not hit.  How about  _ that _ , huh?”

“He  _ coulda _ if he wanted to… still got me to spill the beans on Jude, didn’t he… played right into his paws…” Gideon paused and grunted, “ _ Hooves _ … whatever.”

“So  _ what _ ,” was what he insisted whilst brushing his stomach and chest, “There are officers posted at every exit of Knotash looking for her, and if Magnus does anything so  _ stupid _ as harm Judy, he’ll have the full force of Zootopia’s police department and legal system to contend with.  With the net we’ve got around him, he can’t so much as let her stub a  _ toe _ without police choppers filling the skies over Knotash.  Worst case scenario, Judy stalls until 4AM tomorrow morning when she’ll have been missing for the full twenty-four hours, we charge in with search warrants blazing,  _ hurrah hurrah _ , throw Magnus and Grav behind bars and then everything can get back to normal levels of crazy.”  Misty blue eyes peered over a shoulder and Nick turned fully to ice the cake, “I would even argue that you leaking the Night Howler results  _ helped _ us.”

“H-How…?” Gideon sniffed (but only a little sniff).

Nick, a bit smugger, spun the fur brush in the air to catch it again for dramatic pointing, “Because  _ you _ , my dear cousin, got the spy network off our tails.”

“I… I  _ did _ ?”

He crouched adjacent with a wry grin, “Remember, Doug implied that no one except  _ me _ watched the contest, so from the time you told him about Judy’s reaction to the whipped cream, they would have called off all those bunnies assigned to keep an ear on us.”

“But…”

“Spy networks are  _ very _ high maintenance and expensive, if you want  _ quality _ spies, and you only keep them around for a  _ specific _ purpose, because of what can happen if one of them is caught snooping.  That purpose was already fulfilled when they discovered they had concrete evidence for the Night Howler stuff, right?”

“Right…” Gideon agreed, sounding a bit hopeful.

“The only reason they  _ would _ stick around is to ensure that no one tattled on them,” Nick explained and then bumped their shoulders, “In fact, Bangs, I’m a bit jealous of you… playing right into a trap but turning it around to your advantage, dismantling a spy network, neutralizing a toxic threat, facing down a top-notch assassin… all from the comfort of your own home.”  He beamed as slyly as he dared while Gideon’s eyes grew brighter, “How  _ very _ like Mr. Foxglove of you.”

Gideon, despite himself, caught the contagious smile and then pivoted about in his seat to sigh in a self-defeating tone, “That all’s nice of you to  _ say _ , Stretch, but I-” and abruptly stopped as he caught a furbrush shoved into his mitts, “Uhh…?”

Plopping down fully, Nick faced away from his cousin and pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the still unkempt fur he’d not yet tended to, “Would you mind?” he casually stated.

To which the stouter fox cleared his sinuses and half-grinned, steadying the bare shoulder as he brushed, “Nah… no worries; I got your back.”

Slightly arching at the gentle grooming, the city-fox put his brain back on track, “You didn’t betray her, you know.”

A leaden sigh preceded the answer, each half-beat counted off with a short, quick stroke of the brush, “Sure feels like I did.”

“I’m sure if Judy were sitting in on the call with you she would have done the  _ exact _ same thing, and given herself over if she knew it would save her friends… or even if it would save some random stranger.  She  _ denies _ being a hero up-and-down, but her actions speak louder than her words,” Nick said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah…” Gideon concurred, “I guess it’s kinda like what Mr. Foxglove says, ya’know-”

“‘You mistook me for someone heroic’,” the foxes recited in unison, if with their own tone.  Gideon clapped the more athletic back in a concluding signal, to which Nick laughed and stood, “Supernatural reflexes aside, he’s a pretty good fox, despite his nasty habit of diving nose-first into trouble of his own accord.”

“That ain’t such a bad thing,” Gideon argued as he sat back on an arm, “because he knows he can get out of it in the end, sly fox like him.  Here,” and made to toss the furbrush.

“Hold it a sec, if you’d be so kind,” stayed Nick, unabashedly dropping his thoroughly worn, borrowed trousers to continue changing.

“D’you want some privacy or somethin’?”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before, and  _ recently _ .  Remember Saturday’s hilarious bit in the bathroom?” Nick teased and then added under his breath, “Hilarious in retrospect, anyway,” and only after continuing onto the final article of clothing did he gesture to retrieve his grooming implement.

“Not by any effort of my own,” Gideon muttered under his breath, tossing the furbrush over before resting his chin in a palm with an arm propped up on a folded knee.  As Nick continued brushing himself, “There isn’t…  _ really _ a vixen that looks like Jude… is there?”

“There are gray foxes and no doubt foxes with purple eyes… none that I’ve seen  _ combined _ , but stranger things exist in this world,” he posited and then grinned, “Why, interested?”

“…Not sayin’ I  _ ain’t _ , I jus’ find it funny that there’s a ‘Hopps family legend’ about it but Jude never said a word.  You’d think that’d be something she’d bring up at some point, ‘specially with what she mentioned last night, imagining  _ herself _ as such.”

Pulling out his favorite pair of undergarments (though its packaging was marked for the pup of a larger species, it was its price tag which appealed to the adult fox) Nick commenced his return to decency, “Well, the brain’s a funny thing.  If, like Mr. Barley attests, Stu and Bonnie don’t nourish such a ‘legend’, then I doubt it goes any further than whatever stories an ancient bunny like  _ Pop-Pop  _ can tell to whatever infantile bunnies are willing to listen.  It might be that Judy simply… heard the story once, stored it away for later, and pulled it out when it was useful.  Nothing she hasn’t done before.”

“Well,  _ shoot _ , she’s jus’ like Basil of Baker Street, ain’t she?” Gideon beamed.

“A role model for any young, aspiring detective, myself included.  Where do you think the name ‘Dawson’ came from?”

“Thought that sounded familiar…  Off topic, you’re really wearing those undies, huh?”

“Of course, red rocketships are  _ lucky _ ,” Nick explained, “everyone knows that.”

“Nuh-uh,” Gideon argued, “ _ Trains _ are lucky.”

“ _ Pfft _ ,” Nick scoffed, “Like I could expect a  _ farm-fox _ to know what underwear is lucky or not…”

“I’ll have you know I’m wearin’ a pair  _ right now _ ,” the stouter fox said and sat upright, “I knew I’d need ‘em for today, and it’s a good thing I  _ did _ … although I had my doubts before ev’rything worked out.”

Another scoff and the taller fox pulled up his black denim jeans… with a grunt; he gave a jump to get it all into place and then secured them.  “I have a hypothetical question: why would your sister pick  _ these _ out for me?”

“Uhh…  _ counter  _ question: why did you bring those in the  _ first _ place?  I can’t say they look too comfy.”

“So it’s up to me to answer both, then…” Nick muttered, “These are more for  _ fashion _ than comfort, even though sitting at the bottom of a discount clothes bin softened them up a bit.  When I packed for Bunnyburrow this weekend, I discovered that I could fit everything from the closet of my hole-in-the-wall apartment into a single suitcase, and since I plan to move back in with my folks and a comparatively  _ luxurious _ bedroom, I figured I might as well not leave anything behind.  As for Esther’s motives… I can’t help but wonder if she’s showing me off,” and reached back to examine his tail so he might brush it, as well.

“Showing you off…?” Gideon repeated, brow furrowed before arching, and nearly jumping to his feet, “Hah!” he laughed, “You sly  _ devil _ , you finally got her to kiss you, didn’t ya’?”

“And all it took was becoming the first fox-cop and saving her life,” Nick shrugged with a smug grin, and then picked up the vibrantly pink-and-orange hibiscus pattern luau shirt to examine it, “During which she also saved  _ mine _ , of course; mutual rescue is a great start to any relationship.  By the way,” he continued, slipping his arm through a sleeve, “I found out that Esther doesn’t see  _ north _ too well…?”

Gideon grinned impishly and scratched his nose, “She’s  _ always _ been jealous of that…”

“Yes, Finnick, too,” he recalled, and began buttoning up his shirt, but not even looking at the raised finger or brewing inquiry, immediately answered, “I  _ do _ , in fact, plan to walk about in public like this.  She bothered to pick it out, so I’ll bother to wear it,” and then softly grumbled when he remembered that the top button was missing, yet never bothered to fix it,  _ I knew this would come back to bite me someday… _

“Tha’s great and all, but…  _ why _ ?”

“I’m hoping the bright colors will ward off unfriendlies,  _ a la _ the poison dart tree frog or Zootopian tourist.”  Finally, Nick examined the seafoam green handkerchief, and proceeded to fold it to fit into his pocket… but instead whipped it open to affix it around his neck like a bandana to cover the gap left behind from a faulty shirt.  Finally, he attached the fanny pack around his waist and shifted it around to the back, since the pockets of the pants he wore were not actually designed to hold anything.

“Now, I ain’t a fancy clothes expert, but tha’s gonna look real weird with your tie.”

“Well, first, it’s not  _ my _ tie it’s  _ yours _ , and second,  _ I’m _ not wearing it,  _ you _ are,” Nick informed and beckoned the stouter fox over.  Somewhat bewildered, Gideon did approach and watched in uncertainty as his collar was popped and, once more, the tie slipped around his neck until it was secured in place.  “There; respectably professional,” and as the stouter fox beamed down at it, the taller fox tugged the quick-release knot, “There you go.”

“Hey!” Gideon pouted, holding up both ends of the neckwear, “ _ I _ like doing that…”

“You’ve seen me do it plenty of times and I  _ know _ you were watching, so now you can tie it yourself.  It’s how my Dad taught it to me, so now I’m teaching it to you,” Nick said.  Stooping to pick up both sunglasses and the bag in which the clothes came (and his discarded clothes within), he then made to depart the tent.  His cousin softly grumbled as he poked out his tongue and cinched his brow, fiddling with the new challenge while ducking under the lifted tent wall.

* * *

 

On the other side, an earthen-brown rabbit patiently leaned against the temporary counter, arms crossed and leg propped up to bend at the knee.  His ears sprung and addressed the foxes, as did his eyes, but his face remained bowed in a contemplative expression. When he caught sight of Nick’s new ensemble, he lifted a single finger from his crossed arms and began to speak, only to catch a snicker between his teeth, “You’re  _ really _ going out in that?”

Nick rolled his eyes in a heavy sigh before putting his sunglasses over them, and gestured down with a spreading of his arms, “Esther thinks it a laugh riot, I’m sure, but at least they’re clean.   _ ‘Eh, _ Punch?”

Bo stiffened, and put both his feet down to stick out his chest, “I don’t know what you’re on about.”

“Oh,  _ come _ now,” he scoffed, casually swiping the bag of fresh blueberries which Gideon picked and thusly left on the temporary counter,  _ Yoink _ , and then walked out to the van, the other two close behind, “I can smell that they’re a week-worn from here, and that’s a  _ very _ conservative estimate.”

“They _are_ my cleanest right now, but I’m quite certain _my_ clothes can’t be used to hail a passing ship.  _‘Eh_ , Gloves?”  After a full beat, both foxes burst out in laughter as Nick opened up the back of the van to toss the bag of clothes in, and Bo soon joined with a jolly shake of his shoulders.  “How was that?” he asked hopefully.

“Marked improvement, you’ll be a top-tier banterer in no time,” Nick commended, “How much of our conversation did you hear?”

“Well… _all_ of it, technically, but I wasn’t listening the entire time,” the rabbit admitted, and then grew solemn as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I also heard about Judy.  So she… she really did eat the whipped cream, nearly went out and all that…?”

“She did,” the taller fox answered as he closed the back of the van.  When no further inquiry came from behind him, Nick looked over his shoulder apologetically, “I’m pretty sure Judy wanted to tell you as such  _ herself _ and definitely would have, were she not kidnapped.  With everything already going on…”

Bo shook his head, “‘Everything in its time’, I guess, and I was still recovering last night.  Like you said, whether I knew before now or not wouldn’t have changed anything since she obviously lived through it, and if she  _ didn’t _ … or if something terrible happened, you would’ve told me sooner.  I guess she didn’t upchuck it like  _ I _ did, huh…?”

“Not so much,” Gideon recalled with a shudder, “We were both scared right witless and if Lanny hadn’t come ‘round when he  _ did _ , I dunno what we  _ coulda _ done.”

“Considering how much  _ I _ ate, I should thank my lucky stars I didn’t succumb to the same fate,” he realized, “So… what happens now?”

“Stick together,” Nick ordered, “We should anticipate further correspondence from either Judy or Bogo as the day progresses, and thus need to stay close in case that happens.  It’s not uncommon when awaiting a response from an operative, and we’re fortunate that ‘Watchtower’ assigned  _ you _ to look after us, but no one else.  This, ironically, can prove one of  _ the _ most difficult parts to get through, if only because  _ all _ we can do is  _ wait _ ; but without  _ appearing _ that anything is wrong.  For the time being, let’s stay on the fairgrounds; it looks like the Watch has a wide net spread over it and the infinite horde of bunnies is welcome security against any more dark machinations.  Now then,” the fox shifted to a lighter tone in address to the resident rabbit, “I believe  _ you _ had a thing to do?”

“Tractor pull,” Bo reported with confidence and curled an arm to flex his bicep, “Been lookin’ forward to this for a while, now.”

“ _ Woo _ ,” Gideon whooped with a twirl of his finger.

“I wouldn’t think that feats of strength were something that bunnies ‘looked forward to’ or even endorsed,” Nick reasoned and added, “But then, I’ve learned so much about bunnies this weekend that I never thought I’d ever, ever,  _ ever _ know.”

“True, a lot of anything  _ we _ can do individually pales in comparison to what we can do as a group, or what can be done by larger mammals, notably horses, and our claim to fame  _ is _ our voluminous produce; Stu and Bonnie Hopps take home the prize for biggest vegetables every time, you know.  Still, after I showed up at the Carrot Days Festival a few years ago and out-pulled a boar, I’ve become something of a… an  _ icon _ for hard work and dedication for other bunnies.”

A severe eyebrow from Nick arched in Bo’s direction as he leaned against the van, “And this is on top of your ‘cursed’ status?  You rabbits sure are a  _ fickle _ lot.”

“Wow, just come out and  _ say _ it, Stretch,” Gideon muttered.

“It’s okay, Gid, no harm done,” Bo assured, “After all, I can take solace in knowing that it was not simple ‘fortune’ that swayed Mr. Barley’s decision, but my  _ own _ insinuation that I was the best qualified for the task due to my ‘fox knowledge’.”

“Well well  _ well _ ,” Nick mused, “I’d say Punch’s fox status just moved up from ‘baby-kit’ to ‘adolescent’.”

The earthen rabbit pondered this with a low hum, and then smiled, “Dissimilar to the progress of your  _ rabbit _ status.”  A pair of unimpressed grunts answered as their owners turned to head towards the van’s doors, to which Bo scratched behind a crestfallen ear and followed.

“Turnaround responses don’t stand up to repeated use, on top of which,  _ I’m _ not progressing along  _ any  _ sort of ‘rabbit status’,” Nick extrapolated, “Keep at it, though, you’ll get there.”

Thick arms crossed over a thick chest in thought, “Dang, was  _ sure _ I had something with that…”

Gideon clapped his paws before he climbed into the driver’s seat, “Get in, guys, we can’t stay parked here; gotta head over to the general lot,” he announced, and then grimaced through the windshield after sitting behind the wheel, “Ah dangit…  _ Stretch _ , would ya’ grab that?” the baker asked with a dismissive gesture at the Missing Prince leaflet still tucked under the wiper.

“We should add ‘littering’ to Doug’s extensive list of crimes,” Nick observed, glancing at the trash bag of wet paper Gideon set outside the yellow-striped tent to await pick up from the fairground crew, and examined the smiling cub on the front of the one he held before flipping it over to the artist’s depiction of an older lion on the back.  “Hop in, Punch,” he instructed the bunny holding open the van door, “large though you are, you’re still the smallest and youngest, therefore assigned the middle seat by default.”

His brown ears pointed askew, “Why not just sit in the back, as I did on Saturday?”

“Because there are  _ authorities _ mingling about and I said so, now get hopping,” he insisted, following to close the door and, when he was securely buckled in, held up the leaflet to study it.

The van revved as Gideon growled along with it, teetering between apprehension and indignation, “I still can’t believe that Gravedigger fella came all the way out to Horseshire to finish the job… and was a  _ sheep _ this whole time!”

Nick cleared his throat significantly, “I think there’s something of a misunderstanding here, Bangs.  You obviously recognized his voice from the phone call (which was an arrogant folly on his part, not using a scrambler of any kind) so he was certainly that ‘Mr. Graves’, but the  _ Gravedigger _ of the ZPD’s ‘Most Wanted’ infamy is, without doubt, a  _ wolf _ .”

“But  _ you _ said Doug was in disguise,” Gideon rebutted.

“ _ He _ was,” and with a narrative gesture, Nick continued, “Judy and I spent an afternoon studying the single piece of visual evidence on the Gravedigger, pooling our deductive acumen to figure out who, _ exactly _ , was in that photo,” and softly chuckled, “It was for a bet.  Anyway, one of the ideas that we harbored was that it was merely a wolf disguise, or of some other canine species, but after comparing it to snapshots of real wolves, coyotes,  _ et cetera _ , to mammals in costume with the same position, distance, and lighting, we concluded that he could  _ only _ be a  _ real _ wolf.  There’s a certain way that natural fur reflects light, you see; it’s how you can tell if certain, unnamed rugs are fakes.”

“Phil saw him, I thought?” Bo asked.

“No offense to that old goat Phil Octaves, but a chance sighting in the dark hours from a mammal  _ without _ heightened night vision, especially someone who didn’t believe it themselves at first, does  _ not _ fill me with confidence,” Nick determined.  He lowered the window enough to get some breeze on his sunglasses-covered face as he continued looking at the leaflet as though it were an involving magazine article, even if he was leaning his head on a fist, “Still, Doug met the Gravedigger, whether snout-to-snout or whatever, which means he and his wayward flock are our best chance to catch him.”

The rabbit nodded soberly, arms lifted to fold both paws behind his head, “When you get back to the city, of course.”

“Of course, I like to keep my caseload to a bare minimum when on vacation,” Nick said, “So, Punch… what does the Watch  _ do  _ exactly?  They clearly don’t have authority to arrest anyone -- if they  _ do _ they don’t practice it -- and yet they’re armed to the teeth.”

“Hmm?” the bunny grunted, and then pointed upward with a slight circling motion, “Oh, we watch the skies, mostly, so that no one gets grabbed and flown off.  It can be a real issue out here, you know.”

Some seconds passed before the city-fox responded, and rustled the missing mammal leaflet awkwardly to mutter under his breath, “Could just avoid crop circles and wear tin foil hats, that’s what  _ I _ would do, no need to carry around an arsenal.”

Bo flinched.  “Say  _ what _ ?”

With both paws raised in an explanatory fashion, Nick simply said, “ _ Aliens _ .”

“ _ Birds _ , Gloves, as in real things,” the bunny groaned before he held out his paws like talons, “Birds-of-prey, raptors… hawks, mostly, feathery monsters that swoop in and snatch up little bunnies like  _ that _ ,” and snapped his fingers, “The Burrow Watch was a group of birdwatchers back in the day, you see, and could recognize a silhouette in the sky at a glance; that’s kind of why the news about Tad Wooler hits so hard, because he was one of the  _ best _ at that.”

“I’m sure,” Nick mumbled.

“Yeah…” Bo petered off, “Anyway, they shared their resources with the local rumor mill, elbowed their way into a hotline at the sheriff’s office, and over the decades became what we have today.”

“They also take care of gators or snakes that find their way into the ponds and swamps dotting the woods,” Gideon expanded, “Bag ‘em, tag ‘em, and send ‘em off somewhere  _ away _ from mammals.”

“Rubber bullets and tranqs, then?”

“That’s the ticket,” Bo beamed.

A brow gently arched, “And how’s your aim?”

“Can’t hit the broadside of a barn, despite Judy’s training…” the rabbit rued, “I’m an extractor.  I run in and grab the ones that can’t get out fast enough or on their own.”

“Oddly courageous for a bu-” and then Nick stopped himself for a tap on his humming chin, “For  _ anyone _ small and snatchable, really.”

Bo cracked his knuckles, though not it seemed for any reason other than to occupy his attention, “It’s scary,” he admitted, “almost didn’t make it in time once… had to punch a hawk in mid-dive…” and shuddered, “but I say my wish and it gets me out there well enough.”

“‘I wish I didn’t have to punch this bird in the face’?” Nick endeared.

The rabbit chuckled politely.  “No, it goes ‘I wish that should I die today, it is in service to others so that they may live; blest be’, that’s the first one,” he said, and held up a finger, before counting off on his next finger, “The second one is ‘I wish that should I die tonight, it is peacefully and amongst my loved ones; blest be’,” and then crossed the two fingers of that paw, before crossing the two same fingers on his other paw, “And those’re the Eternal Wishes of the Hexward Tenets,” he beamed and closed his eyes.

The van grew solemn, a silence broken only by the dirt and small rocks kicked up under the tires.  Green eyes peered through the tinted eyewear to catch sight of the similarly blocked blue of the driver, who only nodded in confirmation at the rabbit between them.  Nick crossed his own fingers behind the cover of the leaflet to remember how  _ he _ made wishes as a kit with an identical gesture, but until then never wondered  _ why _ .  To stay the prickling at the back of his skull he… remained absolutely silent in his nonchalance, save for a punctuating grunt of affirmation, and went back to re-examining the leaflet with a straightening snap of his wrist.

“Sorry,” Bo said, putting his paws down and kicking his legs idly, continuing in a quiet tone, “Guess it’s kind of a  _ bunny _ thing.  Not really for ev’ryone.”

Gideon glanced over the anxiously flicking rabbit ears at the hooded, focused green eyes, and as he pulled into the general lot, he shifted gears and sought an opportune place to park, “Starin’ awful hard at that flier, Stretch.”

“Just curious is all…” he trailed off.

“Sudden int’rest in the ‘Missing Prince’?”

“Not as such,” Nick shrugged, “I’ve seen this artist’s rendition before, in fact, it’s what I used to get the Lookers out here in the first place, claiming that I saw ‘Memphis’s fiery mane’, and whatnot.  I never really looked at it closely, but what if… what  _ if _ I spotted him at Lion’s Gate yet never realized it…  It’d be a smart place for him to hide, assuming he’s alive; like a leaf in a forest made of lions,” and then sighed languidly, “Except nothing’s jumping out at me.”

The baker groaned with realization and grinned, “So, more a  _ deep-seated _ int’rest, knowin’ as much about it as you do.”

Bo leaned over to analyze the depiction, “He’s got the same red mane as Lanny.”

“Correct me should I err, Punch, but you sound suspect of something?”

“It’s probably nothing, but red hair is a recessive gene, and Mr. King has that fluffy head of it, doesn’t he.”

“He  _ does _ …” Nick humored, “Alright, college boy, if a family of lions has both black and red manes, which is more likely to pop up in the cubs?”

“Black,” Bo resolved, “Black hair is dominant over red.”

Nick grunted and arched his brows, “And what about…  _ brown _ manes?”

“Brown is  _ also _ dominant,” Bo continued scholarly.

“Then this sketch  _ is  _ romanticized,” Nick declared and handed it over so the rabbit might give it a once-over.  “Memphis’s mane is red and Tycho’s is black, so no ‘fiery locks’ there, and Sarah’s side of the family is, to the best of my knowledge,  _ brown _ manes, so that means Simon’s mane is, more likely than not, brown… unless mane genes are solely from the father…?” he asked aloud but implied towards the rabbit.

“Lionesses pass on ‘mane genes’ as much as lions do,” Bo corrected, “they can even  _ grow _ manes, however uncommon it might be.  I suppose it’s  _ possible  _ that Mrs. King carries the recessive red hair if there’s any evidence of it in her relatives.  Also, I’m not sure you  _ quite _ understand how genetics work…”

Crossing his arms and jutting his chin, the taller fox rocked a bit as the van came to a complete stop in the general parking lot, “Not to my recollection, but then again, I never bothered to dig too deep into Sarah’s side of things.”

“How’s about golden manes?” asked Gideon as he turned off the engine.

“ _ Blonde  _ is recessive, like red manes,” the bunny said.

“ _ Huh _ ,” mused the baker, “Learn somethin’ new ev’ryday.”

Bo hopped out after Nick and closed the door without further ado, “Have you followed the ‘Missing Prince’ thing long, Gloves?”

“Me?  No,” he dismissed, and pulled out the cloth sack of blueberries to pop one into his mouth, “my parents always seemed worried about it, though, especially Dad.”

“I was listening to ‘Tim & Bob’ when he gave that long rant about all the guff the Kings were gettin’, how even the upper crust with all their millions could still lose a cub, and by gum, if the calls didn’t come in viewin’ them in a new light,” Gideon recalled as he locked up the van.  He and Nick gave Bo the lead and followed nearby on their way through the parking lot, to a TBR in full swing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too many references here that aren't already covered. You will, of course, remember Mr. Foxglove from some chapters back in Trustworthy, notably, when Nick, Judy, Esther, and Bo were at lunch and chatting things up all friendly like.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, at last  
> It's time to relax  
> The danger is past  
> So go grab your snacks  
> And kick up your feet  
> Soak in the feeling  
> That it's all complete  
> (You must still be reeling)  
> Let it all settle, no need for mettle  
> It's finally, at last, time to relax

Though the tents of the TBR were unanimously white, the extravagance of their decoration bewildered and awed, a difference from the day prior akin to stepping out from the Stone Age and into the Renaissance.  Vendors peddled their wares with vibrant yet homely signs, naming what they had to boast and who was boasting. It seemed every vegetable, nut, and fruit (along with a meager array of choice insects, for the exotic) could be roasted, deep fried, candied, or some combination thereof.  And if a bunny or hare behind the counter did not draw the nose and wet the palate with their delicacies, then it was a craft, contest, or game of a different sort that entranced the eyes and ears. Gadgets and gizmos aplenty, whozits and whatzits galore, all announced in a rambunctious symphony of merry life that neither quelled nor quaked at recent news.

Amongst the veritable sea of long-ears walked mammals of sparing variety, chief were the horses, whose presence melded with the rabbits in breathtaking seamlessness, like a ship and its wake.  Their purpose in the Tri-Burrow Reunion focused more, it seemed, as wardens or caretakers while the lapine hosts ran hither and thither in ardent micromanaging and hypervigilance. It harkened back -- as the TBR always had -- to the days of yore so marked by the joining sigil of Bunnyburrow and Horseshire: the rabbit’s foot inside the horse’s hoof.  It represented the voluminous luck which sprung forth from the cooperation and cohabitation of the two species, a symbiotic bond of protection and production enjoyed by all others who lived in Bunnyburrow. Present also, as a meager snapshot in an otherwise grand album, were bovines lowing with joy as they rode the tilt-a-whirl, a pair of bears sitting for a caricature portrait, some deer collecting their hard-earned prizes at ring-toss, and a ferret purchasing a caramel apple with chopped peanuts.

“Ahh, Tim O’Nare…” Nick reminisced as his eyes drifted skyward to the colorful towers and arches of balloons sponsoring the braided downpour of rainbow streamers, popping a fresh, crisp blueberry into his awaiting gob (and, of course, allocating a paw-full each to his compatriots), “If ever there were an exemplar of the meerkat species… he would  _ not _ be it, but still very fun to listen to, as far as shock jocks go; and of course, the comedic stylings of Bob Pigg rounds out their on-air partnership rather well by appealing to the adolescent portion of their audience.”

Gideon (distracted by the wonderful onslaught of new culinary smells) continuously returned his attention to untying and re-trying the quick-escape knot, glancing up only to keep pace with the other two, “Uncle John must have a soft spot of missin’ youngins, huh?”

Coinciding with a grunt of consideration, Nick teetered his head one way and then the other to roll the idea about therein, “Perhaps, he always found that children enjoyed his stories the most.  However, I think his connection with Memphis King plays a bigger part in it,” he offhandedly baited. Nick kept strolling (subtly strutting) even though both Bo and Gideon stopped to gawk, allowing himself only another step and held the next halfway through, setting the heel down to turn upon it in a suave pivot, “Was it something I said?”

“Uncle John  _ knows _ Memphis King?” Gideon choked, both in surprise and because he managed to tangle his thumb into the necktie.

“Holy shitake mushrooms…” Bo whispered.

“Oh, did I not mention that?  Must have slipped my mind,” Nick endeared, shrugging the smuggest, most feigned innocence he could muster, “But yes, I happen to know for a fact that Mr. Pridelands himself has a bespoke John Wilde in his wardrobe, and I would hazard a guess more than one.  Funny story behind it, too.

“At the time, Dad was still apprenticing under an old tailor from old money that thought  _ way _ too highly of himself and certain… ‘ _ antiquated  _ methods’, as my Dad would say.  Memphis brought him in to get some adjustments done and Dad’s task was to write down the measurements, but in the middle of it all, a phone call came for the tailor,” Nick began with his audience of two in tow (even though Bo still walked in front).

The rabbit looked over his shoulder, “The tailor  _ didn’t  _ take the call, of course.”

“He  _ did _ ,” Nick revealed to disbelief, “It was someone from City Hall if memory serves, so he couldn’t very well let such a client slip by.  Gracious as his host was, the tailor excused himself and as  _ soon  _ as he left the room, the apprenticing fox pulled up a chair…”

“That was awful considerate of him,” Gideon commended, having sufficed to slip the necktie into his pocket so that he could listen to the story.

“ _ Ahh _ , but it wasn’t for the lion,” Nick informed to confusion, “Gid already knows this, but John Wilde is something of an acrobat and his  _ favorite  _ act is walking a chair across the floor while balanced on its back.  With Memphis King being such a mountainous individual, my Dad danced the lion’s furniture around him for the extra height and  _ corrected _ every measurement the tailor already did, plus all the ones not yet gotten.  It was the most entertaining adjustment Mr. King ever had, and as the old tod tells it, his most comfortable fit.”

“I guess they became friends after that, didn’t they?” Bo wondered as he directed them both towards a fenced off area.  It was adjacent to a length of cleared field and packed ground for the strength-proving spectacle of hauling heavy-duty farm equipment, wherein its industrial-power engine became a hindrance rather than anything helpful.  The tradition of tractor-pulling began in Horseshire as a means of showing which swell-headed colt (or filly, in some cases) could better boast their might, speed, and endurance, and has since progressed to others willing to represent their own species until, for the first time, a singular rabbit, Bo Briar, proved what he was capable of (if in the lowest weight bracket); save the last part, it was all detailed in proper historical flair on a woodcarving someone thought appropriate to post at the entrance.

Nick, knowing that the end of a story he enjoyed hearing (and was frequently disbelieved whenever he told it as a teenager) was almost upon him whether he liked it or not, hurried himself along, “It was kept professional, but their connection actually stems from Simon himself.  Apparently, it’s something of a  _ faux pas _ to bypass your tailor in favor of his apprentice; so instead, a suit was made for the cub.”

“And  _ that _ wasn’t any kind of  _ faux pas _ ?” the bunny challenged.

“The old tailor didn’t suit children so he  _ happily _ diverted such a task onto his junior, and it worked out better than expected.  Dad’s bespoke suits are designed for the rough-and-tumble (I think he actually had to wrestle the measurements out of Simon at one point), since his segue into sewing was his nasty habit of leaving the house in the morning with freshly mended clothes, and returning in the evening with barely a scratch on him save for the numerous new openings in his shirts, and long story short, became a tailor after finding out how good he looked in a suit.”

Gideon barked a jolly laugh, “That reminds of me Ma, how  _ she _ tried to teach  _ me _ to stitch, but instead I jus’ left my shirt at home when I went out to play;  _ that  _ didn’t last long, though,” he chuckled.

“ _ Sneaky _ .  Anyway,” Nick continued as they entered the event already in progress, “he wanted to make one of his own and went to half-a-dozen tailors before  _ finally _ convincing that eccentric, old coot to let him tag along and do most of the work for him.  After almost a decade, he and Mom finally scraped together enough money (along with the help of a friend and a most  _ generous _ tip from one Mr. King for making Simon’s suit) for collateral on a loan to open up  Suitopia ; it was after that milestone that Memphis got one for himself and the rest is history.”

“Alright, guys, you two stay out of trouble while I go take care of this,” Bo said in his usual, humble, cheery self, and before he turned to darn near  _ strut _ into the staging area, added, “Time to put on a good show.  Wish me luck!”

“Well, no  _ wonder _ Uncle John was so worried when Simon King went missin’,” Gideon remarked as he and Nick walked off to the side, “I don’t know much about makin’ clothes, but from what little I seen of Ma fittin’ stuff for Pa, it can be what one might call… intimate, ain’t it?”

Nick flicked his ears about at either high or spattering applause the earthen-brown rabbit received as he and Gideon occupied an empty stretch of fence near a connecting shack covering a gate, so that they might lean on its chest-high, lower rung.  “Yes, you all are sure a fickle lot, unless I’m missed my mark on the definition of ‘cursed’,” he critiqued under his breath, and then mused, “Only if you want  _ quality _ .  Change of subject: I notice the harnesses attached to those tractors.  Is that normal on a farm, or…?”

Gideon flicked his own ears, but not to gauge the audience, “Well,  _ yeah _ , how else d’you expect plows get pulled?”

“I would think the  _ tractors _ did most of that.”

The farm-fox laughed and clapped the city-fox’s back, “I s’pose farmin’ started when they invented the engine, huh?   _ Nah _ ,” he dismissed, “Maybe it’s weird on the outside lookin’ in, but hookin’ up and plowing is as ‘normal’ as you can get.  Sure, you got hoes and diggers making the rows all right, but when you got a few acres of land to go through you strap in yer strongest, take turns with the next and so on until the work’s done.  Horses are the best at it jus’ like bunnies’re the best at farmin’, but I’ve done my share too, so long as I got to keep my shirt on.”

“I  _ see _ …” Nick pondered, “So… you’re familiar with this whole… tractor pull spiel, then?”

“I seen it; from afar, mostly, and I don’t listen to all the fancy rules because they’re boring,” he said and generally pointed out the horses that were already covered in a sheen of sweat, as well as a few others including a moose, a rhino, a koala, and a leopard, all looking like out-of-town visitors showing what they were made of with test-of-strength games.  “It’s a sort-of big thing at Carrot Days, and best I know, Bo’s the lightest that ever competed in the pull itself, but wins his group each time. I gotta give it to him, he is one  _ determined _ bunny.  I guess they already did the heavies while we were talkin’ with the sheriff, and now they’re onto the lights.

“Y’see, here they’re doing ‘warm-up’ stuff by liftin’ things and puttin’ on a show for the crowd.  Ain’t nowhere near as impressive as those big mammals over there, but that don’t mean they ain’t strong in their own right,” Gideon chuckled and then leaned in discreetly, “And jus’ as a heads-up, a ‘cursed’ bunny ain’t something that’s bandied about like it’s nothin’.  Not ev’ryone sees Bo in a bad light; heck, even the Hopps house is kinda split on them that’re ‘cursed’.”

“...Fair point, I’ll keep that in mind,” Nick responded, “The last thing I need is to give rabbits another reason to dislike me.”

Gideon snerked, “Welcome to the club.”

“So… Bo’s undefeated, I hear?” the taller fox casually continued as he scratched his neck.

The stouter fox grunted and shrugged, “If you mean he gets to that line faster than anyone else, then yeah,” and pointed towards a thick, bright white border in the middle of a long stretch of open area.  “From what I hear he gets some ‘repeat customers’, so to speak, and if all else fails, he pulls against a group of bunnies or his previous time. Oh, looks like they’re bringin’ in the smaller tractors now.”

“I think ‘smaller’ isn’t  _ quite _ the correct word, but I see where you’re coming from.  Can  _ anyone  _ compete in this?”

“Ayeup, tha’s what makes it an attraction, of sorts.”

“Visitors and locals alike?”

“Why, lookin’ to give it a shot, Stretch?” Gideon teased and poked at the lankier body.

A scoffing raspberry paired with a dismissive push of the air answered initially, “Been there, done that,” and whipped out his first-place prize from the pie-eating contest with a casual grin.  “See? Already earned  _ my _ bragging rights on Bo, but from the way I hear it you have a chance to give him a  _ second _ second place,” Nick pointed out, and indeed, the tails of the rabbit’s red ribbon poked out the back pocket of his shorts from down in the staging area.

The implied challenge was loud and clear to the stouter fox, and he shifted in his leaning beneath its subtlety, “ _ Nah _ ,” he once more dismissed, “I ain’t got  _ any _ kinda chance ‘gainst Bo, doughy sort like m’self…” he petered off with a scratch to his belly.

Nick thumbed the ribbon in plain view, “You’ve probably thought about it before, I reckon, tossing your hat into the ring.  After all, you act like you don’t care about this tractor pull, and  _ yet _ seem to know enough to participate,” he speculated, holding up the bright blue prize as if it were a gem.  Gideon’s tail swept in agitation as his own bright blues eyed the frilly medallion before they turned away in a resolute  _ harrumph _ .  The glittering, gold letters inched into the baker’s bubble until it and the ribbon which boasted it hovered at the very tips of his cheek-fuzz, and so mocked in a high, whiny tone, “I  _ guess _ you could always try again  _ next  _ time, but it will  _ never _ be quite as cool as  _ me _ ; will it?”

Resolve wavered and waned into a sidelong glance with a gnawed bottom lip.  Gideon pushed the ribbon aside to stand upright, shoulders back and chest out (gut sucked in), “This can’t be any worse than getting shot at,” he declared conversationally before marching towards the showboating rabbit, hiding well the crack in his voice.

“That’s the spirit,” Nick commended, punctuating his pep talk with a chuckle while tucking his own blue ribbon back into his fanny pack.  From his vantage point against that remote fence, it was plain to the city-fox that his cousin’s brazen approach upon the earthen-brown rabbit turned and quieted many of the local heads, and got a few chuckling comments from others, as well.  Alone, Nick hoisted himself up to sit on the horizontal beam and lean against the fence post, eyelids heavier than they’d been all day,  _ Should get me a few minutes of napping in before I’m needed for anything else _ , he yawned, utilizing one of the many talents honed while living and working on the streets of Zootopia: sleeping in any position, circumstance, and for any length of time available.

* * *

Speaking subjectively, Nick’s eyes were closed an instant before a distant gong and cheering crowd sounded the start of the tractor pull, and so stir him from his ephemeral slumber.  He then heard the juicy munching and smelled the sweetness of someone eating a caramel apple nearby, whereat a ferret sat on the fence mere inches from the end of his footpads. His legs dangled idly while he sported a tie-dye t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting, cargo-pocketed slacks with holes in the knees and frayed cuffs at the heels; his amber eyes swiveled behind the dark “mask” of his fur to glance at the waking fox as he swallowed his bite of candied treat.

“How’re you staying up like that, are your pants glued to the fence?” he asked, gesturing with the almost finished dowel of the fairground snack.

Nick covered his mouth to yawn before letting his own leg swing down in equally idle motion, “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said disinterestedly, “I keep a gyro in my pocket for balance.”

“Oh, of course,” the ferret replied, tail sweeping behind him as he munched, watching the two competitors in the not-too-distant strength challenge, before adding, “I didn’t expect to find you  _ here _ , of all places.”

“On a fence?”

The ferret shrugged with a smirk, “Well, you  _ do _ tend toward indecisiveness, Nick, but I meant out in Bunnyburrow; what with your allergies.”

Nick shimmied to get comfy, eyes hooded as his paws folded on his trim stomach, “Believe it or not, I’m out here with Judy, even though she’s a bit… preoccupied with bunny business at the moment.  So, I’m catching Zs. Why’re  _ you _ out here?” came the smiling response.

With the caramel apple finished, the ferret crossed one leg over the other and held the dowel between his teeth so that both his paws might hold the fence he reclined on, “I came over thinking someone was signaling for help but turns out it was only your shirt,” he teased and followed up at the next logical question, “I stayed because I wanted to see if you’d fall off.”

“Would you have helped?”

“ _ Pfft _ , the grass is so soft here, you could drop glass and it would be fine, but I would’ve taken a picture, maybe woke you up.”

“How altruistic of you, Travis,” Nick huffed and pivoted about from where he sat to set himself down on the other side of the fence so that he might lean forward onto it.

Travis followed suit, also watching the contest as he moved the stick from one side of his mouth to the other, before holding it between his fingers like a pencil, “I’m out here taking care of my mom’s fish while she and everyone  _ else  _ is off on that cruise,” he stated with little enthusiasm, “High-maintenance salt-water fish, exotic stuff.  But, I could hardly let something like the TBR pass me by without going at least once, so I took a break from fish-sitting to  _ peruse _ .”

The fox smirked as he looked out at the shirtless Bo and Gideon hauling farm-equipment down a lane for the amusement of others, “See anything you like?”

The ferret scoffed, “Good sir, I’ll have you know I am  _ spoken _ for… but if I weren’t, well…”

“How  _ is _ Quinton these days?”

“Getting his quills done so he doesn’t tear up the couch, bed…  _ everything _ again; lengthy process, you know how it is,” and shifted tone as well as subject, “We missed you at the theatre last week?”

“ _ Yeah _ … my bad,” Nick groaned, “and I was so looking forward to seeing you in a lizard costume alongside a cross-dressing warrior from an ancient empire,” he then smiled, ears flicking as the gong sounded again to end the tractor pull amongst cheers from the audience.

“Dragon,  _ dragon _ , not ‘lizard’,” Travis corrected, “I’d hate to have to do that…  _ tongue _ thing.  It went rather well, though, so no complaints otherwise.  By the way, do you know that fox down there racing against Bo?” he asked.

Nick’s eyebrow quirked severely, despite his best efforts to remain neutral, “You  _ don’t _ ?”

Travis shrugged, “ _ Thought _ I did, but the fox I knew would chuck his pants before his shirt,” he petered off wistfully, “So… can’t say for certain,” and bit down on the candied remains of the dowel again, “I thought I saw him walking off from here and figured him one of your many acquaintances, if not a friend.”

_ Really… _ Nick pondered, his tail swaying like a metronome, “As it so happens, he’s my cousin and a local boy.”

“Shut up, he is  _ not _ ,” Travis beamed and laughed, pivoting to lean sideways on the fence with a paw against his hip, “‘Local boy’, huh?  Let’s see…” and tapped the dowel on his lip as he glanced up in thought, “He’s… a  _ Tweed _ , one of Tod and Vixey’s sons?” the ferret guessed.

“No, not a Tweed… but you’re close,” mused Nick _. _

“‘Not a Tweed, but close’…” was repeated, Travis leaning back against the fence and popping the stick in his mouth to gnaw on it, arms crossed, “The… Whitends?  I don’t think they had a farm, they lived in the apartments in Preds’ Corner itself,” and looked hopefully to Nick.

Nick only shook his head, grin kept in check, “You’ll never guess,” he said matter-of-factly.

“There was that… what was her name… a family of foxes, foreigners that lived here a few years… the Lamours?”

“Would you like to phone a friend?”

Travis turned back around with arms aloft in good-humored defeat, “Fine, I give up; who is he?  Probably from the Honey Hills or some remote corner of Horseshire.”

“Like I said, you were close with the Tweeds, only a few houses down, in fact,” Nick explained and gestured out towards the stout baker already unhooked from the tractor, “Okay, you ready for this?  Gideon. Grey.”

“Yeah-huh,” Travis vehemently doubted and jut a thumb out towards the distant fox while knitting his brow at the nearer one, “ _ He _ is naked from the waist up, something Gideon hasn’t been in over a  _ decade _ -and-a- _ half _ ,” and then crossed his arms to huff, “So, who is he  _ really _ ?”

“He really  _ is _ ,” Nick responded calmly, offering his own unsmiling but patient face, and stood upright, “and I’ll prove it to you.”

A scoff came abruptly, “ _ This _ should be good.  Are you going to go into one of your… ‘chain of deductions’,  _ Basil of Baker Street _ ,” he said not unkindly, “and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt about how that obviously  _ is  _ Gideon Grey, even though I can see that he obviously  _ isn’t _ ?”

Putting his fingers to his mouth, Nick projected a high, shrill whistle, “Hey Bangs!” he then called with a wave.  The stouter fox could be seen excusing himself and hiking back.

“Cute,” an unamused ferret retorted, arms still crossed, and then shrugged with an unimpressed gesture of a paw he pulled from his elbow, “but that’s  _ not _ Gideon.”

Gideon paused  _ en route _ to block the sun from his eyes before his face visibly brightened, and so began to jog.

“That’s not Gideon,” Travis repeated, if less confident than before, candied dowel dropping from his mouth.

“Travis!” Gideon called as he waved on approach.

“That’s not Gideon!” Travis squeaked to futilely convince  _ himself _ and flinched in an attempt to escape, only to find that Nick’s encircling tail blocked him surer than a concrete barrier.  The ferret gawked at the shirtless, sweaty fox on the other side of the fence, doubled over and gripping his knees to catch his breath, thus providing the stage actor an opportunity to cover up his world-shattered shock as best he could.

Softly heaving and panting, Gideon did stand upright at last, “As I live and breathe, Travis Blackfoot!” he finally managed, grin as wide as possible, “Ya’know, I keep hearing you’re in town ev’ry once-in-a-while, but it feels like we’re always missin’ each other,” and sniffed with a rub of his nose, beaming still, “I guess that’s a bit my fault, losin’ track of time as I do.”

“Hey, Gideon, hi,” Travis weakly greeted, putting up a  _ strong _ front of emotional stability and nonchalance, “Yeah… I guess we’ve just been… busy?”

With a cheery grunt and a hearty, “C’mere!”, the stouter fox lunged through the spacious fence gap to grapple a still dazed ferret, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug with such immense joviality that he guffawed, unaware of any cringing from the huggee.

“Okay, break it up,” the taller fox laughed, clapping his cousin’s bare back before withdrawing his paw in disgust and an appropriately exaggerated grimace at his palm.

When Gideon set the ferret down, he took a step back and ran a paw through his bangs, “Gosh, I haven’t seen you since…” and glanced down in a momentary recollection of lament, before brightening up again, “Ya’know, since our school days.  Word is you’re an actor, right?”

“Y-Yeah…” Travis replied, staggering but catching himself, amber eyes never leaving Gideon, “That’s… it’s a living.”

“ _ Eww _ , you’re all slimy with effort,” Nick rebuked, utilizing his bandanna for its originally intended purpose of a handkerchief before tucking it into a pocket, “Go… towel off or something,” he then instructed with a dismissing flick of his wrist.

Gideon touched a paw to his own chest and examined the matting of sweat with a single awkward chuckle, “Oh yeah, I should prob’ly do that before I go huggin’ anyone else, huh?” and rubbed the back of his head with an apologetic smile, “Okay, I’ll be  _ right back _ , so you don’t go anywhere,” and briskly jogged away with a sweep of his tail, sparing a quick grin over his shoulder.

Travis stared at the brick-red back, his claws digging grooves into the wooden boundary before he stumbled away from Nick, who immediately pursued as they strode into the shadow of the nearby shack covering the fence’s gate.

“Whoa, hey, Travis, I know he was musky, but-”

“ _ Shut up _ ,” the ferret barked, stopping to brace himself against the shack’s outer wall, trembling as he balled one paw into a fist.  His entire face was scrunched, and as his ear flicked he looked to Nick with scorn, “What?” he demanded, “Don’t you have somewhere  _ else _ to be, other pathetic displays to criticize?  I can’t be the only show in town.”

Nick lifted his sunglasses and quirked a brow, crossing his arms and preparing to speak, but was cut off almost immediately, hardly getting a syllable out.

“You…” Travis accused, if only to stop whatever it was the fox planned to say, but lingered as his face combined guilt and the disbelief of betrayal, “You  _ knew _ , didn’t you?  That’s why you  _ really _ befriended me those months ago, that’s why you’re  _ really _ here in Bunnyburrow because you found out somehow…” and then spat, “ _ Didn’t _ you?”

_ Great… _ Nick groaned and rolled his eyes, “You’ll need to be a  _ bit _ more specific with whatever you’re pinning on me.”

The ferret turned full on him, chest heaving behind its tie-dye veil, paw loosely holding the shack wall as he scowled, “I bet he isn’t  _ really  _ your cousin, is he?  That was a ploy so he’d trust you and divulge  _ everything _ .  I’m sure Judy told you what happened at Carrot Days but then you kept on digging, kept on  _ prying… _ ”  His fingers fell limp from the wood as he took a step back from Nick’s masterful nonchalance, his  _ own _ composure showing its cracks as he glared, “So, what happens now; retribution for transgressions as a kit?  Is that what they’re sending the ZPD out for these days?” When no answer but frosty disapproval came, Travis riled all the worse into full dramatic gesticulation, his voice rising clearer and clearer, “They  _ laughed _ , Nick, the whole of the city laughed and  _ scorned _ when a fox became a cop, from the marshes to the tundra, from the desert to the meadow, from the Underland to City Hall… but they, the masses, don’t know the true  _ terror _ of a fox in uniform, do they?

“No… it’s not only because a fox is part of the aptly contrived name,  _ ‘shifties’ _ , we small predators who have only our wits and shadows to protect us; not strength, not numbers,  _ nothing _ but the cracks into which we crawl like insects,” he said in a building tempo of passion before calming, cooling, “It’s because foxes aren’t like the others into which they are grouped, are they?  It’s  _ just _ like my gramma said: we ferrets… we ‘mind our own business’, it’s our credo, and are not as hated as foxes are.  Raccoons are not as hated, even though they are seen as scavengers and thieves. Not wildcats, despite their assumed trickery and ferocity.  Not even weasels.  _ Certainly  _ not otters.   _ Foxes  _ are hated.   _ Foxes _ are the betrayers.   _ Foxes _ are the ones you can’t let out of your sight…”

Travis approached a statuesque Nick, trembling paws reaching up to unnecessarily straighten the luau shirt’s collar with as much poise as he could still muster, “In days long past, us  _ ‘shifties’ _ did what we had to to get by… to  _ survive _ in a world that even bunnies, squirrels, and rodents knew greater safety than we.  And we did, Nick, we  _ did _ … by any means necessary…   _ We _ played the game.  Foxes didn’t. Foxes  _ couldn’t _ .  They…  _ you _ went against the rules and played your  _ own  _ game.  You boast about how you ‘don’t lie or keep secrets’ but it’s because you  _ can’t, _  you discover terrible truths that are  _ never _ meant to see the light of day and then you  _ flaunt _ them…  You take away the shadows that protect us…  _ that’s _ why you can’t be trusted… even by the untrustworthy.

“And now?  There’s a fox in authority,” he laughed a hollow, pained laugh and stepped away, paws out in grandiose demonstration, “It must scare  _ a lot _ of mammals… because they don’t know what a fox will  _ do _ with that power.  So, I ask again… what happens now?”

Nick’s finger tapped on his arm as he listened to the exposition, and then he put his paws together and steepled his indexes to touch under his nose, “What ‘happens’ is I ask about this…  _ ‘game’ _ you speak of.  Does it have anything to do with Grav and his family?”

Travis, as an expressive individual onstage -- and in times of passion, offstage -- projected his emotions expertly… and the soul-crushed transition from indignation to despair would have formed a tear in the eye of the most callous critic.  Indeed, it seemed that the fox drew back one of those shadows the ferret wrapped himself in, and his theatrical bluster was navigated with insulting ease. “…Grav?”

“Hopps, yes.”

“Wh-… Why do you think he has anything to do with this?”

Nick’s paws folded behind his back, “I’ll sum things up for you: We -- Judy, Gideon, and I -- encountered Grav last night.  In the exchange, we pushed each other’s buttons and he jabbed at Gideon about how  _ you _ were in his employ to grease the wheels of a schoolyard bully.”

Travis expressed his disquieting, muted shock profusely.

“This brought up a few concerns for me, as you can imagine,” said Nick, and paced a path around a petrified Travis, “Number one: Gideon insists you and he were best friends, and after what I just saw, I am inclined to believe that; judging by the redness in your ears, I think it was something a bit  _ more _ on your side of things,” to which Travis clapped his paws over both ears to see if they were still warm and shied away, if darting glances back at Nick, who then continued, “Number two: both Grav and Judy imply that Gideon was a loveable little scamp before he became a bully, but when he turned it was  _ nasty _ and was kept that way until Carrot Days.

“Finally, number three: I heard a  _ very _ traditional rabbit today mention an ‘ancient pact’ between wolves and ravens, and with your spiel about a ‘game’ and ‘rules’ -- which, by the way, I  _ thought  _ only happened in the  _ city _ ,” he emphasized with harsh significance, “I can’t help but wonder if there is some sort of…  _ ‘pact’ _ involving ferrets and rabbits, something antiquated but that still holds water, something that could be called upon to handle things, shall we say,  _ ‘discreetly’ _ ?  Now, these concerns of mine lead me to a single conclusion based on my previous line of work: the Greys were  _ hustled _ , in which the mark and goal was Gideon,” and stopped pacing to stand before the ferret, “And that, Travis, seems to be the only part of what I said that doesn’t surprise you.”

The ferret panted, holding his head as though afflicted by a dizzy spell, “The Great  _ Fox _ Detective, indeed…” he muttered, “I can see why foxes were thought witches in the past.”

“Yes, I’m amazing,” Nick said offhandedly with a wheeling of his paw, “Let’s get back on track.”

“How did you know to find me,” Travis asked, “did you wear that shirt to draw me in?”

Another roll of his eyes and a sigh, Nick obliged to answer, “No, I can’t have said for certain I’d find you here… I would’ve expected you in the stands as opposed to this outskirt seating, and rather  _ hoped _ to wait until I returned to the city to ask you about what happened with Gideon back at Woodlands.  Regardless, I was sure you would’ve been willing to answer.”

Indeed, the amber eyes seemed willing to talk, if after one more inquiry, “What made you think I would answer you at all?”

Nick shrugged with not only his shoulders, but also with the corners of his lips, the arch of his eyebrow, and the tips of his ears, “Because Gideon was once more hustled into nefarious activities -- which we excitedly thwarted, by the way, remind me to go into details later -- but  _ you _ weren’t the one to get him to do it this time, which… well, if a con worked once, then there’s no reason it shouldn’t work again, right?  Predictability is one of the many tools under the hustler’s belt. So, I made an educated guess that you felt remorse, and wouldn’t mind chatting.”

Travis heaved, his paw gripping at the tie-dye shirt, ears flicking to check for anyone’s approach.  He gulped, nodded, and at Nick’s unspoken invitation, sat beside him against the wall of the shack and hugged his knees, “Fine… I guess I got myself into this with my little…  _ tantrum _ .  Someone came by one day… back when I was still a kit.  It was a bunny but not Grav or either of his parents, someone I didn’t recognize then and wouldn’t today.  There…  _ is _ a sort of agreement that weasels started, and my family was big on it so many generations ago we thought its practice six-feet-under…  My dad wanted nothing to do with it, but the farm belonged to my too-bitter-to-die gramma. It was a simple request… an  _ odd _ request: all I had to do was egg Gideon on and I earned four years in any university without paying a  _ dime _ .  That was a golden ticket for a family of farm-ferrets; so long as we didn’t ask questions.

“And it’s not like anyone got  _ hurt _ … not  _ really _ .  We were too clever for that… never leave any lasting marks, scare them too much to tattle,” he rubbed his wrist and hung his head in shame, “It was  _ easy _ … it was  _ fun _ …  I had to report back to Grav every now and then, so he could tell me what I needed to do to keep Gideon on edge, to provoke his ‘predator nature’…  When we got older, though, I started having doubts…” He raised his eyes again, “Gideon protected me, Nick, he looked out for me, and I looked out for him… even if I began to regret everything we did I didn’t want it to  _ change _ , not if it meant we couldn’t be friends anymore.”

Caressing his chin in thought, Nick utilized the momentary silence, “You got into the con-artist gig young and perhaps weren’t fully taught the cardinal rule: don’t fall for your own scam… or in your case, fall for your  _ mark _ .”

Ears went warm and red once again as Travis shrunk in stature, “It was… a confusing time for me.  Gideon was the best friend I ever had, and I never understood that I shouldn't  _ actually _ grow to care for him… but I did.  After Carrot Days, we got word that the job was finished and that when I graduated high school, I could continue my education however I saw fit…  I was so happy because it meant I could tell Gideon how I  _ really  _ felt.  But then… they took him away,” choked Travis, and gripped his arm tighter to tremble, “He was gone for three weeks and I missed him  _ so _ much…  When he got back…” and slumped against Nick, “No… it was like he never  _ did _ come back…  The next time I saw him, he was bundled up in a hoodie and a turtleneck even though it was the middle of summer, sitting with his back wedged between the roots of a tree, whittling away at a block of wood until it was a splinter.

“I had it all planned out, how I would tell him at our favorite swimming spot, or where we picked the juiciest blackberries, or the whistling tree trunk… but he didn’t want to do any of that.  I tried to get him to take off the jacket by pulling on the hood, but then he  _ screamed _ at me, and stared at me like I was some kind of  _ monster _ … I don’t remember all that we yelled at each other that day except that he told me to walk away first.”  Travis’s voice went low as he rolled his head to rest on the fox’s shoulder, eyes closed, “He said he would never show me his back again…”

_ I see… _ “Which, if I remember my mustelid culture correctly, is  _ the  _ sign of trust.”

Travis opened his eyes but did not seem to focus on anything in particular, “I knew there was no hope for ‘us’ anymore, that somehow he found out what I did, about how I sold him out, so I tried to forget that I ever knew a ‘Gideon Grey’… it was easier when I went to Brackwater High and he into the Lost Boys… they’re a remedial class.  I made what amends I could with Judy and the others he and I tormented at Woodlands; I thought things were going well for a while.” His chin trembled as his whole body shook when he looked up at Nick, “And then the PredaTherp scandal broke, and all it meant when a predator went to ‘therapy’… no one believed me, but I  _ knew _ that’s what happened to Gideon.  I… I finally understood why he hated me  _ so much _ … I was sick for a  _ week _ after that…”  Travis struggled to sit up and wipe his eyes on his wrists, “I couldn’t stay in Bunnyburrow anymore, so when I graduated I went to  Julliaardvark in Gnu York after collecting my Turkish Delights; and no, Nick, the irony  _ isn’t _ lost on me.  The rest is, as they say, history.”

“Until a few weeks ago,” the fox prompted,  _ Around the time Tad approached Gideon about hosting a pie-eating contest for the TBR. _

A pause weighed on the bewildered, suspicious ferret before he sighed his defeat and nodded, “… _ Yes _ .  I thought it all behind me up until a few weeks ago when I received a call about a ‘job’,” and flicked his fingers in an air-quote, “The theatre was going through a dry spell at the time, so I was willing to hear it out… but at the mention of Gideon’s name, I hung up immediately.  No matter what they were paying, I just couldn’t hurt him again.” After a minute more, Travis seemed to have collected himself, running a paw through the short fur on his head, “In retrospect, I wish I got a name or something from the guy, maybe let the police know or warn Gideon about any trouble coming his way… but that would mean calling him.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“I was prepared to meet him again, Nick, I really was,” Travis insisted, “I was prepared for profanity, screaming, sobbing, glaring, silence, claws…  But when he  _ hugged  _ me and laughed, smiling and shirtless like he was when we were kits?  What… what could I  _ do _ ?” he pleaded, and then wrung his paws together, “I guess I shouldn’t have taken it out on  _ you _ , though.  So… sorry.”

Nick scratched behind an ear as he reached around to grasp the ferret’s shoulder, “Don’t worry about it, but I imagine you’ll want to scamper before Gideon gets back, so I’ll leave you with this one pearl: we both love Gideon and weren’t there to protect him when he needed us most, but we’re here for him  _ now _ .  How’s that work for you?”

The amber eyes, a bit brighter than they were before, scanned the fox half-embracing him, “I guess you really  _ are _ his cousin, otherwise I’ve been reading you  _ all _ wrong in the short time we’ve known each other.”

Nick smirked, “I really am his cousin and I challenge  _ anyone _ to get a proper read on me,” and clapped Travis’s back before standing to usher him off, “Now mosey along, I’ll cover for you.”

Mildly staggered as he too stood, Travis took a few steps forward before looking over his shoulder, “…Thanks, Nick, I guess you never realize how much you have on your chest until you get it off.  I have some… thinking to do… and fish to feed. See you later,” and so retreated toward the tree line before stopping one last time and rubbing his arm, “I’d…  _ appreciate _ it if you… if you didn’t…”

“Travis, I’ll impart another pearl of fox wisdom unto you: avoid situations with complicated explanations, most of all, having to explain your own secrets  _ after _ they’ve been found out.”

“…I’ll keep that in mind,” the ferret said, smiling some before disappearing.

Safely alone not only from anyone in his immediate vicinity but from anyone remotely visible, Nick collapsed against the shady wall of the shack, heaving and panting and holding his head,  _ That was a mistake… I shouldn’t have brought Gid in on that, but what’s done is done.  At least he seemed happy… and I guess Travis got some absolution in exchange for information, so win-win-win. _  He propped up his arms on his knees and breathed deeply several times,  _ Maybe I should follow medical advice for once in my life and get some proper rest.  Like right here, in this shady patch of grass… My gosh, it really is super soft… maybe I can close my eyes for a just bit- No!  No, bad Nicky. I still have to cover for Travis, and then I can sleep. _  With a lurch, he made to stand up again but fell forward onto Gideon’s awaiting back.

“And  _ hup _ ,” Gideon said as he hoisted the sack of flour that was his cousin, paws securely hooked under the taller fox’s knees.

Nick grunted his understandable confusion, finding it a staunch challenge to keep his eyelids up, much less his head, and therefore powerless to prevent it from resting against the  _ other _ head nearby.  “I… what…?” Nick asked, attempting to peer through his leaden haze at the fact that he was ambulant, yet immobile.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Bo said, a strong mitt clapping to the lankier back, “Found you napping face down in the grass,” he explained, “A  _ very _ compromising position, someone could’ve walked up and snagged your phone or wallet but you’d  _ never _ be the wiser until it was too late.  It’s a good thing  _ we _ found you first.”

_ Sweet cheese and crackers… _ Nick dreaded, conjuring up one of his most self-chastising admonishments, “Okay, thanks, but I can walk just fine,” he slurred.

“Before that, try lifting your tail,” Bo challenged.  When an efforted grunt was all the fox could manage to keep his crimson bushiness from dragging, the rabbit reached his conclusion, “That’s what I thought.   _ You _ are going to the first aid tent for some  _ proper _ sleep; doctor’s orders.”

“Lanny’s a  _ nurse _ ,” he argued or tried to.

“Close enough, and  _ he  _ got  _ his  _ sleep before pouncing off to save your sorry tail, so you’re gonna do the same,” Gideon rebutted, “But since you’re awake, you can tell me what happened to Travis.  You didn’t scare him off, did ya’?”

_ Ugh, this is high school all over again… and the police academy… and that one time at Haymarket…  _ “Fish,” Nick muttered.

“‘Fish’?”

“ _ Exotic _ fish, high-maintenance… Look, I have his number and will give it to you later, okay?”

Gideon scoffed and then berated Bo, “I  _ told _ you we didn’t need all that rigamarole with the pictures!  Now thanks to them, I missed catching up with someone I haven’t seen in  _ years _ .”

“Documentation is  _ crucial _ in these events,” Bo shot back, “Besides, you know where he lives, so just go visit him next chance you get.”

“Well… I  _ guess _ ,” he accepted with a huff, before berating Nick, “And  _ you _ stop squirming unless you wanna be dragged by your tail.”

_ It really would be like Haymarket, then… _ “Fine, fine, I’ll behave.”  With that, Nick sagged on the shirted, less sweaty back which he was carried, pressing closer so that his arms weren’t propped up so uncomfortably and bobbing along in front of him, like the sort of shambling ghoul that he most certainly felt, but rather let to dangle down Gideon’s chest and cross over to a loose hold.  It was difficult to stay awake, much less alert, but Nick gradually conceded to the idea that any attempts on his well-being would be thusly countered by the two burly tractor-pullers ready to protect him, and allowed himself to relax.

Gideon grunted and shrugged to get a better grip, “I said stop  _ squirming _ , not stop  _ living _ .”

“Make up your mind,  _ sheesh _ .”

“It’s that tent right there, Hoss,” Bo pointed out, “I’ll go on ahead and make sure there’s a bed for him,” and so ran off with a quick pitter-patter.

At the groaning chuckle of his valiant steed, Nick couldn’t help but smirk, “‘Hoss’, huh.”

“Yeah…” Gideon admitted, the roll of his eyes nearly audible, “I’m not sure Bo quite gets the whole ‘nickname’ thing, but he was tellin’ other bunnies that it’s what foxes  _ do _ , and I guess they think he’s a ‘fox expert’, so it’s sticking.  Dunno where he got such an idea.”

Nick recalled when he churned the bunny’s mental gears after teasing him with the implied spiritual weight of nicknames _ ,  _ “What a mystery it is.”

“I had to come up with one for  _ him _ , of course…”

“And?”

Gideon sighed louder, “I went with ‘Chuck’.”

“Esther called him that yesterday.”

“I know, I know, but he seemed happy enough with it, and now  _ I _ gotta call him ‘Chuck’.”

“I mean… you can still call him ‘Bo’, if you want.  Nicknames aren’t legally binding… at least I don’t  _ think _ they are.  They  _ aren’t _ , right?”

“They might be for  _ bunnies _ , but he’ll be expecting it ev’rytime he calls me ‘Hoss’, and tha’s what jiggers me most.  I s’pose I could’ve come up with something  _ better _ , but we just finished the tractor pull and that was the best I had.”

“How’d that go, anyway?”

“Oh, I  _ won _ !” Gideon exclaimed, “And I got me a pretty blue ribbon in my pocket to prove it, too.”

“I knew you could do it,” Nick commended drowsily, “but for the record,  _ how _ did you win, exactly?”

“Well, you know what I said was the finish line?  It’s actually what they call a ‘ _ concession _ line’, because it’s a race for  _ distance _ ; they re-explained the rules to me afterward.  Bo gets to the line first to discourage the other puller into giving up, like a  _ mind game _ .”

“That’s… actually pretty sly for a bunny.”

“I know, right?  Well, he did that sure enough, but I went through all the trouble of getting into that harness, and even though I figured I’d already lost I was gonna  _ at least  _ clear the start line.  Bo saw me truckin’ and got all excited so he kept pulling to jump ahead of me, and then I’d go a little further, and so on until all  _ I _ had to do was outlast him, but even then it weren’t easy, no sir.  And then I won.”

“Sounds to me that congratulations are in order,” Nick yawned, while still expressing as much sincere interest as he could.

“Thanks,” Gideon chuckled, “It’s my first ever award, too, at least for a competition; gonna put that right up in my bakery.  And jus’ wait ‘til Ma, Pa, and Essy find out.  _ Especially _ Essy,” he grinned from ear-to-ear quite impishly, “I know for certain that none of  _ her _ awards are for tractor-pullin’,” and then glimpsed over his shoulder again to grin, but perhaps less impishly, “Hey Stretch, d’you think I might have a shot at winnin’ more strength contests?  Never really thought about it before, but I built myself a fair bit of muscle doin’ carpentry with Pa, and maybe if I convince Bo to help me work out-” but stopped in both speech and pace at the steady, quiet breath of sleep in his ear, and so snickered, “If I was borin’ you  _ that _ much, you coulda just  _ told _ me.”  Gideon took a quick glance about before whispering over his shoulder, “I don’t know if you Wildes do this, but it’s something us Greys do…” and craned his neck for a light lick on his cousin’s cheek.  Nick’s mouth pinched in a momentary grin before Gideon ducked through the first aid tent flap to the hospital bed within…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll recognize "Gadgets and gizmos aplenty, whozits and whatzits galore" from Ariel's song, "Part of Your World" in "The Little Mermaid". You might also recognize that Nick described the movie "Mulan" and the part Travis played was Mushu. I am attempting to include every Disney movie and property in NwM, not so much overtly (goodness, no...) but writing on the idea that they all exist in the Zootopian world in some capacity, whether the animal characters (i.e., Clarabelle Cow) are on-screen characters or are part of a legend (i.e., Mulan) with their species unspecified; the latter allows me to include characters who are reptiles, amphibians, birds, insects, or fish without altering them beyond their circumstances (you might recall that John told young Nicky about "the War between the Ants and the Grasshoppers", i.e., "A Bug's Life"). In this vein, we have Travis mentioning Tod and Vixey Tweed, "The Fox and the Hound", and Lotta Lamour from "Tailspin".
> 
> That said, if I may offer a deeper reference, "Turkish Delights" is this world's metaphor analogizing "thirty pieces of silver". As we touched upon during Gideon's crisis of faith a few chapters back, the story of Aslan includes betrayal by a fox; this is something of a layered (some might say "obscure") reference and does not reference Mr. Fox (who is then petrified) but Edmund Pevensie. In the book, Edmund mentions that he is excited to see foxes (along with Lucy's excitement to see badgers, Susan and rabbits, Peter and falcons), additionally, Edmund's correlation with Mr. Fox in the movie allowed for the association here, and thus, what Travis mentioned about irony. (Hmm... one might even say that with his task in the movie to rally Aslan's forces, there was an original "Mr. Fox", wasn't there?)
> 
> On to lighter news, "Julliaardvark in Gnu York" references "Julliard in New York". Additionally, Nick recalled when he churned the bunny's mental gears outside of Phil's bar in Trustworthy, right after the lunch date.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	22. Chapter 22

****_ It was a cold day, as all days were.  Not a day was not cold since the time of the ancestors… if anyone knew of warm days it was not them or any child, grandchild, or great-grandchild of theirs.  Warmth only came from home and family… for those that had a home… for those that had a family. _

_ Mr. Fox had a home but no family, so the duck he caught could feed him for a month, so long as he got it back to his den, which was a long way off from where he caught it.  With the fowl secured in a sack and his crossbow slung over a shoulder, Mr. Fox trudged through the snow, the snowflakes that drifted down settling on the sickly, grayish-red shag of his fur, and the smoky rags he wore.  He looked up to the bleak slate of the sky, still clinging to the echoes of a tale he heard as a kit, that the sun would come to walk amongst them again, as it was said to do in time immemorial. But those were tales for kits, cubs, and pups to give them just enough hope to grow up… to pass it onto their own children… to live another cold day… _

_ Along the way, he came upon Mrs. Wolf, who howled and cried in the snow over a stone, which she decorated with flowers made of silk.  She begged, “My pup, my pup, have you seen my pup?” to which Mr. Fox answered: _

_ “I’ve been from there to here, and ev’rywhere between, _

_ but there is no pup, ma’am, no pup I have seen…” _

_ Mrs. Wolf cried again and began to dig.  So, off went Mr. Fox until he came upon Mr. Tiger, who growled and cried in the snow over a stone, which he decorated with charms he’d counted.  He begged, “My cub, my cub, have you seen my cub?” to which Mr. Fox answered: _

_ “I’ve been from there to here, and ev’rywhere between, _

_ but there is no cub, sir, no cub I have seen…” _

_ Mr. Tiger cried again and began to dig.  So, off went Mr. Fox until he came upon Ms. Fox, who cried without tears in the snow over a stone, which she did not decorate but held tight.  She begged, “My kit, my kit, have you seen my kit?” to which Mr. Fox answered: _

_ “I’ve been from there to here, and ev’rywhere between, _

_ but there is no kit, ma’am, no kit I have seen…” _

_ Ms. Fox cried again and began to dig.  So, off went Mr. Fox until he returned to his den in the knotted roots of a tree.  There were many who had lost a kit, cub, or pup to either the cold or the dark, but Mr. Fox had no kits to lose, and so kept to himself.  He set a lump of coal into his stove for warmth to dress and prepare his catch for the month ahead, and when finished sat himself down for tea but was soon stirred by a knock on his door.  His den was well hidden, and the door doubly so, so he practiced caution in answering, peeking out through the barest crack to find Ms. Rabbit, sickly and garbed in smoky rags, as were all who lived in those cold days. _

_ She asked, “My fox, my fox; have you seen, my fox?” _

_ He poked his nose through the door to look about, “What should I have seen?” _

_ She asked, “My fox, my fox; have you heard, my fox?” _

_ He poked his head through the door to listen about, “What should I have heard?” _

_ She asked, “My fox, my fox; do you know, my fox?” _

_ He stepped out from the door, “What should I have known?” _

_ Finally, she asked, “My fox, my fox…   _ **_Why_ ** _ , my fox?” with a voice softer than the snowfall and stronger than the tree’s roots.  So, off she went into the cold, but awaiting her was Mr. Lion, who with Ms. Rabbit looked at Mr. Fox and did what none other could those days: they smiled.  Paw-in-paw, as though she were his cub, they walked towards the east, where it is said that if one looked hard enough they could see the sun heralding its fabled return from behind the mountains… _

* * *

Nick jolted awake but not from a nightmare, his green eyes aglow in the dim light as he breathed steadily, newly energized by a thorough sleep and a fading dream, his brain buzzing in the creative flair of a fresh mind.  _Holy smokes_ _ , how did I not see it sooner?  Aiko Okami, Xander Pounceski, Fuchsia Loxley… Memphis King… it all makes sense, now…  Thanks Judy, always there to help me figure stuff out. _

His attention snapped to a figure sitting in a chair on the other side of a bedside table, and then spun about in the temporary sleeping arrangements to face the fox wearing a collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a low-knotted necktie, who then glanced up from a phone --  _ Nick’s _ phone -- with a surly passivity.  “Dawson!” Nick quietly exclaimed and scooted until he could sit on the edge of the bed with excited gesticulations, “It’s a good thing you’re here because I think I figured out-”

“Stretch, I’m gonna stop you right there before you choke on your own foot,” Gideon said curtly.

Nick stared and frowned, fingers out in explanation before they curled in with both indexes pointed, “Appreciated.  So… you worked out the necktie, I see.”

“Yep.”

“And… I’ve been asleep for a few hours, then?” he assumed, glancing at the shadows creeping up the tent walls.

“Only an hour or two off from sunset.”

“Anything…  _ happen _ while I was out?”

“You got some texts, dunno from  _ who _ , though, and… Travis called… said a bit more than you did before realizing it was me,” he answered soberly, “Was in quite a state, too… he’s gotten kinda dramatic over the years, hasn’t he?”

“You could say that.”

Gideon dully chuckled, “It’ll take some gettin’ used to, but I think I like it.  We talked for a bit… for a  _ while _ , actually,” and looked significantly at his cousin.

Sighing a heavy sigh, Nick responded, “Probably about what happened when you were kits?” and to a nod, continued, “I’m glad I was asleep for that conversation…  He told me about it while you were at the tractor pull… he  _ did _ have fish to look after, Bangs, but he also needed to work a few things out.”

“Yeah… I s’pose it was best you didn’t say anything, all things considered… you were barely awake as it was,” and scratched his neck, “I really ain’t sure what to make of it… I’m as happy as a robin in spring to hear from my best friend again… but findin’ out what he  _ did _ and how he  _ felt _ about me…” and his ears warmed, “It’s jus’… I ain’t sure, is all.”  He extended an arm to return Nick his phone, “I still want to be friends with him, of course, so we exchanged numbers, and he’s with someone, so there’s no… ya’know… anything lingering there.  We’re jus’ gonna… start from square one, as it were.”

Nick lifted a leg to prop his elbow on a knee, smirking, “You were right, though.”

“What about?”

“Travis really was, and  _ is _ , a true friend, which you can lord over Grav until kingdom come.”

Gideon gave it some thought, and then snickered, “Yeah… wipe that smug grin right off his face with it, too,” and sighed a happy sigh, “Oh!   _ I _ got a call from Essy, and she’s bein’ escorted here by Bo, who, by the way, I got to see all geared up in his Burrow Watch duds before he left, and lookin’ pretty snappy, too.  I mean, it ain’t  _ really _ a uniform, not like a cop,” and gestured appropriately, “but it’s presentable.  So,  _ uhh… _ you were about to tell ‘Dawson’ about something you ‘figured out’?”

“Oh…  _ right _ , I was going to do that, wasn’t I,” Nick admitted.

“D’you… wanna  _ re-think _ what you were gonna say, now that you know I ain’t him?” Gideon teased.

Nick hummed in thought, and looked at his phone while chewing his lip, “Actually, I think it should wait until Esther and Bo arrive.  Think you can handle the anticipation?”

The baker shrugged with a casually disinterested grin, “I wouldn’t mind a breather between revelations.”

“Such a good sport,” Nick said as he smirked and unlocked his phone to check on the text messages he was said to receive, “Alright, let’s see if anyone else wants our heads on a platter…” and hummed in thought, “Mom wonders if I still like curry… of course I do…” and typed out a quick message in reply.

“I can’t wait to meet Aunt Jackie and Uncle John,” Gideon said, “D’you think they’ll come out here, or should we go into the city?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“Right, right… dastardly plans and all that.”

“This one’s from  T-Mobull ,” Nick said dismissively as he continued onto the next text message, “And  _ th _ -” he stopped, and glanced up to Gideon for a moment, “This one’s from Captain Kela,” but then remembered that his cousin wouldn’t know who that is, as evidenced by the confused eyes searching for some answer on the tent walls.  “He’s the alpha of the ZPD’s wolf pack, of which  _ I _ am the omega of,” Nick explained, and at the stouter fox’s wide-eyed amazement, continued, “No doubt one of his wolves is a plainclothes cop keeping an eye on the exits of Knotash, and about… fifteen minutes ago spotted a helicopter leave its airspace.  Best he can figure, it’s headed for Bunnyburrow.”

Gideon’s jaw about hit the floor, and it was all he could manage to not shriek out in exultation, “Jude swiped a  _ copter _ !” he gleed as quietly as possible, beaming from ear-to-ear with elating paws balled up against the underside of his plush cheeks.

“‘Jude  _ commandeered _ a copter’,” Nick calmly corrected, “and let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we  _ cannot _ assume anything when it comes to Magnus; I’m surer of that now more than ever.  Come, dear cousin, we’ll rendezvous with our fellow conspirators and see what we can uncover about this wayward whirlybird,” he instructed.  Nick leaped to the tent opening to push and hold up the heavy curtain to allow Gideon through, only to find that he had visitors sitting patiently in a set of chairs on the other side.

Bo sprung up from his seat, no longer in the remnants of his laundry but in a clean collared shirt of the ranger’s forest green, ironed and tucked into a pair of similarly colored trousers, neatly pressed and held up by a utility belt, on which a walkie-talkie hung dutifully.  He certainly seemed happy for the inclusion of less prickly company.

Someone who did  _ not _ spring up was Esther, remaining cool (quite  _ cold _ , actually, though perhaps not because of how she was dressed) in her charcoal, ladies’ jeans, legs crossed tightly with hardly a motion in her still colorful toes; her arms were similarly, tightly crossed over a lavender v-neck.  Contrasting it all was how her bangs were tidily combed and brushed over to one side that it might partially cover the right half of her face if let to hang, but were instead pinned up by a vibrant, beaded barrette of rose reds and jade greens (no doubt something she picked up from a festival vendor).

“Oh, hey guys, didn’t know you were here,” Gideon greeted as he stepped out, “How long’ve you been waiting?”

Bo answered, “Only a few min-”

“All day,” Esther succinctly cut in, to which Nick flinched, stuck in place holding the tent flap open.  She did not glance up from whatever it was she stared at across the first aid tent, and hardly moved a muscle or flicked an ear at the stony silence that was the wake of her declaration.

The rabbit, along with the taller fox, were both frozen solid with the fur of their napes pointed to the ceiling, but Gideon -- as is the case with tods to their close vixen relations -- was resistant to her wiles and so able to challenge her assertion, “C’mon, Essy, it can’t’ve been more than-”

“All.  Day,” she enunciated, gradually glaring at Nick with icy blue eyes, head hardly a degree turned more than necessary to catch him cringing in her sights.

With his composure refreshed (if newly, severely tested), Nick whispered to Gideon, “I’ll, uh… I’ll take care of this.  You and Bo find out about that helicopter.”

“We’ll meet up at the picnic table behind the med tent,” he collaborated.

And then Nick said aloud in his most polite manner, “Ms. Grey, the doctor will see you now,” while holding the tent flap open a little higher with an ushering sweep of his paw.  Esther uncrossed her legs but not her arms as she rose to full height to stride past Bo and her brother, disappearing inside the secluded room; Nick sagged and muted a sigh when her back turned, and then followed in after.

 

* * *

Bo’s ears were pinned back as he watched her feet go by, only looking up when it was him and Gideon.  “Will Nick be okay by himself?” he quietly asked and nodded at the tent flap, idly cracking one knuckle of his paw and then another, “Esther’s  _ really _ scary, and as soon as I said he was awake, she-” but stopped as the baker promptly ushered him out of the medical tent.

“Her eyes ain’t gray, so he’s fine,” the fox said with his own manner of conversational succinctness as he kept his paws around the rabbit’s broad shoulders to continue insisting their combined departure.  The instant Bo’s ears sprung up and pointed in the direction of Nick and Esther, Gideon quickly clapped his paws over them instead and kept ushering until they were around the back and at the agreed upon meeting spot, “They’ve got fox stuff to smooth out, so no eavesdroppin’.  Besides,  _ we’ve _ got more important things to do.”

“Like what?” the rabbit doubted, paws on his hips as he arched a brow, standing outside in the waning afternoon to study the more excited fox, who then stooped and pulled Bo into a huddle with a paw blocking his mouth secretively.  Hazel eyes darted about before stepping closer, even putting his paw against Gideon’s back (and finding that the fox didn’t even flinch when he did), “I thought whispering wasn’t needed anymore.”

“Take nothing for granted,” Gideon whispered, and after a nod from the bunny, continued, “Nick got a message from his wolf buddies in the city, about how a copter flew outta Knotash and is heading here  _ right now _ .  Now, I’ve seen a copter or two land in Bunnyburrow from time-to-time, but we need to find out  _ where _ it’s goin’, and  _ who’s _ on it.”

Brown ears pinned back at such news, before swiveling forward and brow knitting in thought, “‘Where’ should be easy, there are only two helipads I can think of in Bunnyburrow: the main one at the general hospital in the town proper, and another at the clinic in Preds’ Corner, in case of emergencies that can only be taken care of in the city.  Since it’s a two-hour flight, at least, there’s always an itinerary; someone in the Watch should know about that,” he said and slipped out of the huddle to unclip his walkie-talkie, “I’ll get on the horn and find out; shouldn’t be much more than a few minutes.”

Gideon took a step back as the Watch member spoke his radio-code, and then crossed his arms and had himself a seat at the picnic table, looking off towards the darkening sky of the east where Zootopia’s twilight radiance was already influencing the heavens.

“Well,” Bo said, yanking the fox from his reverie as he, too, sat adjacently at the table, “I sent out the call and should hear back ASAP, but the best I’ll get is a confirmation of where it’s landing and where it came from, not a passenger manifest.”

“Tha’s okay,” Gideon assured, “We’ll give all that info to Nick and he’ll figure it out, sly fox like him, probably even  _ deduce _ what they’re wearing,” he chuckled, “But I’d bet my tail Judy’s on it, prob’ly  _ flying _ it, too.”

The rabbit considered it, “I don’t know if she has a license to pilot a helicopter, but she might’ve gotten someone  _ else _ to fly it for her.  She’s always been really likable, easy to make friends with,” he said with a smile, which turned into a smirk, “So I’ll bet my  _ foot _ that she won someone over to  _ aid _ her.”

Gideon smirked back, “You’re on,  _ Chuck _ ,” and held out his paw, to which Bo grasped and shook it, “Judy’s on that copter, but we’ll see if she’s flyin’ it or not,” and then canted his head to the suddenly nervous rabbit ears scanning the area, “‘Swrong?”

“I… thought I heard a howl… except distant, or very quiet,” and Bo gave his shoulders a shake, “It was probably someone at the festival, or the wind,” and allowed a smiling scoff, “Look at me, jumping at noises; guess I’m still spooked by the idea of the Gravedigger, even if it was only a  _ mimic _ …”

“Hey now, there’s no shame in gettin’ spooked, all things considered,” Gideon advised, “Can’t deny that Doug Ramses shoots sharp enough, Gravedigger or not.”  He then lifted his head with ears flicked, spotting movement from beneath the tent’s wall as a pair of foxes in notably good spirits ducked into view, and so Gideon made his observation, “I’d say you two smoothed things out, huh?”

“All is forgiven,” Esther in a singsong tone.

“And I’ll be sure to be more mindful in the future and avoid the need for so  _ thorough _ an apology,” Nick abided.

“Or  _ not _ ,” she cooed, and he leered.

Bo’s ears pivoted before he did and bit back anything he was about to say as the taller fox and the vixen seated themselves at the table.  Hazel eyes darted back and forth between them, “You know, you two weren’t  _ really _ out of earshot…”

“Why, whatever are you talking about, Chuck?” Esther innocently asked.

“We made amends in a culturally fox-like manner,” Nick explained.

Bo, however, would only narrow his eyes at them and pout, “Mazel tov, but was it  _ really  _ the time or place for that?”

“You’re right,” Nick immediately responded with a clap to the table, “celebrations are best left until  _ after _ Judy’s return,” and the earthen-brown rabbit nodded, paused, and then pinned his warming ears back.  “So, Punch, it sounds to me that you’ve got some concrete answers about that helicopter.”

With an awkward clearing of the throat, the Watch member minutely adjusted his walkie-talkie, “That’s…  _ pending _ .”

“Good to know we’re not idle,” Esther commented.

“No point in us sittin’ around  _ pent _ ,” Gideon said, “Stretch, what’d you figure out?”

“Ah  _ yes _ , the big question of the weekend as asked by Judy: ‘Why Gideon?’,” Nick began with a gesture and to the bewilderment of the named fox pointing at himself, continued, “To which Grav so graciously jabbed, though I did not know it at the time, the answer: ‘Convenience’, and perhaps even an apt modifier, ‘mostly’.”

Esther bristled while muttering under her breath, “And it stirs my pot as much now as it does when I heard about it last night…”

“You mean for the TBR, right?” Bo asked.

“Actually,” Nick said with care, “this is about events leading up to the Carrot Days Festival from sixteen years ago.”

“I… yes, I  _ do _ remember hearing about that,” the rabbit said, “Gid scratched Judy, the older bunnies said ‘Enough was enough’, sent him to therapy, and then expelled him from Woodlands, and that’s that, right?”

The table sobered drastically before Gideon spoke up, much to his elders’ surprise, “It was a bit more than a slap on the wrists,” he explained, claws raking his forearm for an instant.

“We won’t go into details,” Esther followed, and reached over the table to touch her brother’s paw, “but it was more a punishment than any kind of help, one ‘disproportionate to his transgression’, to turn a phrase… we’ve only recently discovered how truly brutal it was.”

“You know it ain’t therapy when you need a therapist for it afterward,” Gideon said with a trying grin.

The rabbit sat in shock, before turning on Nick, “And that happened because it was ‘ _ convenient _ ’?”

“If I may?” Nick pressed, and when he once more had the floor, “Thank you.  When I say ‘convenient’, I’m being ironic because Gideon’s path to pred-therapy was anything  _ but _ ; quite the opposite, it took a  _ lot _ of setup to get him there.  Now, not to toot my own horn, but I can smell a con a mile off and everything I’ve heard about what happened back then  _ stinks _ to high heaven,” he snarled, and then continued professionally, “The best hustle is one that goes undetected and unsuspected, and were it not for the truly diabolical ends and means, I -- as a former hustler -- would admire its masterful execution, but my moral compass is since stronger than that,” he grinned.  “However, even the  _ best _ cons leave behind breadcrumbs in the form of coincidences, which only those in the know, like myself, could even recognize as more than mere happenstance:

“When I hear that a kit is sent off to  _ pred-therapy _ for scratching somebunny’s face, not in a few days’ time, but the next  _ morning _ , I assume there are shenanigans afoot; I don’t care  _ how _ unnervingly efficient rabbits are, those types of decisions and arrangements are not made in an afternoon,  _ unless  _ they were prepared beforehand.  Coincidence number one.

“By his own admittance, Grav Hopps purposefully wound Gideon’s crank and kept him on edge for the express purpose of ‘bringing out his predatory nature’, a fox who by all accounts should have been a regular Winston Poohbear-”

“‘Cept I didn’t care for honey as a kit,” Gideon broke in.

“Really?” Nick started, grunted, and then continued, “Anyway, a bully was made out of our plush pushover,” to which Gideon snorted at the identifying wave, “by the son of Clea Hopps, or as she was known during her stint as pred-therapy’s head shrink, Dr. Cleopatra Lapis.  Coincidence number two.”

Bo scratched behind an ear in thought but was otherwise quiet.

“I could name a few mammals I’ve heard of over the years that came out of pred-therapy  _ bone _ -chillingly different to how they went in,” Nick said, and then folded his paws on the table to look at, though not address, a nervous Gideon, “But I can only name  _ two  _ who’ve undergone such a change  _ prior _ , which makes his circumstances coincidence number three.”

“‘His’…” Esther repeated, “You’re talking about Xander Pounceski, aren’t you?  That tiger from the Cliffside patient records last night.”

“The very same,” Nick confirmed, “According to his nephew Tyler, Xander wasn’t always a criminal, even though he  _ did _ have a rough upbringing, made a lot of bad choices, and was known to fly off the handle, especially when cider was involved.  After losing his job, his mate, and almost losing his life, he begged for a second chance from his brother, Tyler’s father, and boy howdy, Xander crawled the long road to turning his life around; got professional help, became a loving uncle, landed a job in a small accounting firm, even found a prospective new mate.  For  _ years  _ he was clean, sober, respectable… until out of the blue he was snapping at the smallest things, keeping untoward company, withholding secrets from his loved ones, all very unusual behavior for him that was explained away as ‘falling off the wagon’.  A few short weeks later, he was caught embezzling, laundering money, cooking the books, you name it, and wound up in pred-therapy rather than face long overdue prison time for his sordid past.”

Gideon ran a paw through his bangs, “But… this ‘Xander’ fellow already had skeletons in his closet, it sounds like.”

“Getting a predator into therapy, unless they volunteer for whatever reason, is a complicated process,” Esther explained, and looked pointedly to Nick, “There has to be  _ proof _ that they are a threat to society due to their  _ biology _ , not their circumstances.”

“I’m glad to hear we’re all on the same page,” Nick commended, “It wouldn’t take much for Xander to lose everything he worked so hard to rebuild, especially if it meant he could ‘opt for a lesser punishment’,” and quoted the air, “Truth be told, even ‘volunteers’ have to ‘prove’,” he continued to air-quote, “that something as extreme as pred-therapy will do the trick, whether from something in their  _ own _ history or… something more  _ genetic _ .”

“Blue, I can’t help but feel that you’re drawing certain parallels that I’m  _ none _ too comfortable with,” Esther remarked, joining her brother in mild, anticipatory glowering.

Nick first glanced away, and then spoke to both Grey foxes as carefully and maturely as he deemed necessary, “There isn’t a lot I know about my aunt and uncle, an oversight which I look forward to correcting as soon as they return on Thursday, but there are specifics that garnered my attention.  Esther, you’ve no doubt considered what would motivate a father to run cross-country from his homeland with his newborn kit,” he said and hesitated to continue as if standing on the threshold of permission. Her fingers curled into loose fists, exchanging a pursed-lip glance with Gideon before she nodded her permission.  Nick tread carefully, “What I say next is only speculation, but  _ something _ happened in Goliath’s past, something he escaped from… and by my modest geopolitical knowledge, likely  _ saved _ you from…  Maybe it was the trigger of his exodus, I can only surmise on that point, but something was surely used as leverage against him,” and then looked to Gideon.

“Was Pa  _ blackmailed _ ?” the stouter fox dreaded.

“I do not think directly, no,” Nick hesitated.

“So what  _ did _ happen?” Esther asked.

“You said that Greys’ emotions run right under the fur, correct?” the taller fox recalled, to which the vixen seemed unsure to feign indignation or rationalize an offhanded comment, “If -- and I must stress this ‘if’ -- Goliath had any history of violence in his youth, like Xander, but as I also recall was said, a strict ethos of  _ non _ violence, then I wouldn’t doubt that a cunning, resourceful psychiatrist like Clea Hopps had the means to cast a shadow of a doubt as to how his son would develop.  Something like a newly marred bunny, for example, wouldn’t take a lot to convince a bunch of rabbits of what ‘needed to be done’, quote/unquote,” and then turned to Bo, “No offense.”

“But Pa  _ never _ hit anyone,” Gideon argued, “and I was doin’ jus’  _ fine _ until Grav came along!”

“What  _ exactly _ are you insinuating here?” Esther inquired.

“Only that you can tell a lot about a mammal based on their friends and habits, or in this case, the fact that Clea is mated to Magnus Hopps, a rabbit who has the Gravedigger’s ilk on his payroll,” Nick answered sternly, “Hiring  _ that _ type of expertise means you agree with the methods: longterm, meticulous setup to strike at an opportune moment such that no one suspects  _ your  _ involvement.  Goliath had a pressure point that could be exploited, perhaps to prevent the asking of too many questions when they came to take his son away for three weeks, and indeed, no questions were asked then or when he  _ returned _ , either.  That’s why the Grey family was chosen to swipe a kit from and not any of the  _ other _ fox or predator families available at the time.”

“ _ Really _ , Stretch…” Gideon doubted.

“ _ That’s _ an understatement,” Bo huffed.

Nick’s brow quirked patiently, “Okay, farm boys, time for some critical thinking: before you sow the seeds, you need to plow the dirt, but before you do  _ that _ the field has to be cleared, correct?  It not only has to be  _ prepared _ , but there are conditions for the land itself before farming happens.  So, riddle me this: when did Grav show up on the playground? Anyone?”

The table was either resistant to answer, or opted to answer eventually after a quick count on the fingers, but then Esther spoke up in the silence with an almost dawning lilt in her voice, “It was little more than twenty years ago…?”

Nick clicked his tongue and flicked an approving finger, “What  _ else _ was happening around that time?”

“Aside from the TBR, it can’t have been too long after Simon King went missing,” she answered, grimacing, “Blue, I really hope I’m wrong about this, but judging by the look on your face, I think I just stepped into the same realm of crazy as  _ you _ did.”

“I’m sure you remember how things were  _ before _ the Kings spearheaded Zootopian’s child protection laws.”

“Of course I do, it came with my studying law history,” she replied and looked to the younger mammals at the table, “I wouldn’t say it was anything so dramatic as an ‘epidemic’, but there was definitely a persistent ‘rash’ of missing children in previous generations.  Those that were lost were either runaways, orphans, delinquents, or some combination thereof, and came from families without the means to search beyond their neighborhoods, or hit investigative dead ends and cold trails,” and then looked at her brother, “Trisha Rose, for example, would have been another statistic some decades ago.”

To which Nick picked up, “When Simon and Ryan were cubnapped right off the King’s ranch, but only Ryan was recovered  _ entirely _ by chance, it shook the upper crust of Zootopia when they realized that even Memphis and Sarah, the brown sugar sitting on top, weren’t immune to such tragedy; I’m also sure that Tim O’Nare’s spirited tirade aided in this revelation.  So, you have Zootopian aristocracy scrambling to safeguard their  _ own _ children and you get trickle-down legislation pushing revamped protection laws through City Hall, the voice of the populace rises up in the ballot box, and democracy shines through the metropolis once again.”  He then steepled and drummed his fingers together to glance over them at the fox and rabbit sitting on the other side of the table, “But what about out in the country, like Bunnyburrow, or even further out in Preds’ Corner?”

“It’s ironic that Bunnyburrow was  _ scoured _ to find Simon, yet didn’t feel the full impact of those new child protection laws,” Esther admitted, “but when you don’t have as high a population per square-foot (at least outside of the bunny community), not to mention the geographical distance from the city, it’s no surprise that  _ those _ new laws weren’t upheld as strictly,” and then arched a brow at Nick, “Which, unless I’m mistaken, segues into the point you’re meandering to.”

“More like ‘groping for’,” Nick confessed and dropped his cheeks into his palms to pout, “Everything’s set up in their favor but I’ve yet figured out  _ why _ they did it.”

“‘Why’… what?” Bo questioned, “You already figured out ‘why’, that’s what you’ve been on about this whole time, isn’t it?”

Nick’s paws moved to the top of his head as his chin plopped to the table, “I know why it was  _ Gideon _ , but not why Magnus and Clea needed a kit -- or any child, really -- in pred-therapy in the  _ first place _ .  Having the suspect and the murder weapon is great and all, but without a motive or placing them at the scene of the crime, it all amounts to  _ another  _ heaping pile of circumstantial evidence,” he grumbled in newly blossomed apathy, “Maybe I’m just chasing my own tail on this…”  As Esther rubbed his back consolingly, he sighed, “If I had some direct connection between them and Gideon or even the Grey family, it’d be  _ something _ to go on.”

“Maybe they’re connected to one of those three bunnies that sent me off in the first place?” Gideon postulated, “Except I wouldn’t know ‘em if I tripped over ‘em…”

“And  _ I _ never got their names,” Esther lamented, “There was this… really  _ fat _ one; looked like a marshmallow that’s been held over a campfire too long-”

“But not all the way burnt,” Gideon finished, “Yeah, I think he was the one in charge.  Gosh, he was stone-cold serious… not like a s’mores at all…”

“And that lady with the glass eye,” Esther shivered, “It still gives me the creeps, every time I think about it…”

“Or that  _ really  _ old bunny with the speaker in his throat,” Gideon said and tapped at the bottom of his neck.

Bo scratched behind his other ear, and then spoke up, “Gloves, that thing you said about coincidences…” he began, if doubtfully, and looked between the Grey foxes, “I could be wrong on this, but I think you just described the Tri-Burrow Reunion Board,” to which Nick’s ears perked.

Gideon flinched and knitted his brow, “My fate was decided by a buncha  _ party planners _ ?” he about growled.

“They do more than festivals, Hoss,” Bo rebutted, “the ‘Board’ acts as a sort of… council of elders, I guess.  I saw their pictures every now-and-again while setting up in the past week or so, but from what I heard, two of them died some years ago, and the only one remaining is Reggie Hopps.  I recognized him when he came by my hospital room last night, the really fat one that looked like a s’mores, but he was warm and soft when  _ I _ met him.  Turns out he’s been on sabbatical for a few years, and only came back to town recently for the TBR.”

Esther frowned her incredulity, “How have I  _ never _ known about him until this weekend?  He’s Judy’s  _ grandfather _ , for crying out loud, and  _ prolific _ .”

“Clearly, he doesn’t  _ want _ to be ‘known about’,” Nick observed under his breath.

“Ya’know… I don’t think I’ve  _ ever _ seen his picture up in the Hopps house…” Gideon considered, “Come to think of it, Stu was never too talkative about him, either, and if ever there was a ‘grandpa’, it was always Pop-Pop.”

Bo blinked and looked between them, “You didn’t know?” and at confused shrugging or shaking of the head, “Stu left the city because, unlike Judy, he  _ wanted _ to be a carrot farmer, but-” and was harshly interrupted by the electronic cough of his walkie-talkie.

“Boulder come in, over _. _ ”

“This is Boulder,” the rabbit replied hastily, and after a momentary scramble, “What’s the word, over.”

“Got your ask on whirlygig, over.”

“Go ahead, over.”

“Set to land in Brambles, over.”

“Roger that,” Bo smiled, looking up at the rest of the table, and then licked his lips in an eager attempt, “Who’s flying, over?”

“Mr. Lucky, over.”

Bo’s eyes spread wide as he gulped, “Say again, over.”

“Mr. Lucky is flying into Brambles, repeat, Mr. Lucky is flying into Brambles, over.”

“B-Blest be,” he said weakly, “Over and out.”  Bo hooked the radio back onto his belt before addressing the three foxes staring raptly at him.  “I don’t think it’s Judy flying in from Knotash,” he managed to say, his throat audibly dry, “Unless she found a way to get onto the helicopter of Felix Oswald Lapis.”

Nick sat upright with a thoughtful hum and sweep of his tail, “Well…” he said, “if ever a fox needs a confidence booster, tell him his crazy plan came to fruition.”

“The Lookers!” the Grey siblings exclaimed.

“ _ Looks _ like I got his attention after all,” the taller fox mused, “Judy must be playing the long game, no doubt gathering as much information as she can in her ‘gilded cage’ before the twenty-four-hour time limit at 4AM tomorrow.  We, on the other paw, are tasked with receiving the good Felix  _ properly _ .”

The earthen-brown bunny groaned at such an assessment.

“What, I thought this Felix was a super swell kinda guy?” Nick questioned.

“He  _ is _ ,” Bo answered, “it’s just that… from what I know, Felix Lapis only makes trips out to Bunnyburrow in  _ extraordinary _ circumstances outside of routine visits, and never once has he ever landed in Preds’ Corner, that I can remember, except to talk to the residents about that Caribouan Cruise.  The Lookers must be causing something  _ awful _ for the Knotash bunnies staying there, and when he finds out that  _ you _ brought them in just to get  _ him _ out here…?”

“ _ Relax _ , I’ll handle it,” Nick soothed, “How long until he lands?”

“Another hour-and-a-half, maybe a little more.”

“Then we don’t have a lot of time to prepare…” he ascertained and pivoted with a leap to his feet, before holding a formal palm to Esther.

“Prepare for what?” she asked, accepting the gesture to stand beside him, and studied his face an instant before her own tail flicked, “Bless my soul, Mr. Wilde, I daresay you’re up to some manner of  _ mischief _ .”

“And you don’t intend to stop me, I hope?”

“Only if I don’t get to play a part in it,” Esther cooed.

“ _ Wait _ ,” Bo urged, standing up as well, paws on the table.

“Hey,  _ hey _ ,” Gideon pouted as he sauntered about to stand near them, “There’ll be  _ no _ ‘manner of mischief’ goin’ on-”

“ _ Thank _ you,” the rabbit breathed.

“Unless I’m part of it, too,” and joined in the smirking.

“ _ No _ ,” Bo groaned, promptly following the skulk of foxes walking away from their rendezvous and towards the adjacent parking lot, giving the designated ambulance driveway a wide berth, either Grey listening in and inputting on the quick exposition as detailed by Nick.  The rabbit’s ears only caught sparse phrases as he bounded forward to catch up, even vaulting in front of them with his shoulders squared as authoritatively as possible, “I  _ cannot _ allow mischief to just happen,  _ especially  _ when the Felix is involved!”

Green, smiling eyes glimpsed from one set of blues to the other, before alighting on hard hazels, “Punch, you trust me, right?” Nick asked, folding his paws in front of him, and when the stony front wavered a slight degree, “Then you should know… should  _ feel _ at the very core of your being that I only want Judy’s safe return and justice for what happened to Gideon.  Right?”

Bo’s face scrunched as he glanced down and to the side, “Yeah…”

“Then whatever I have planned is, ultimately, geared towards those two goals, logically speaking,” Nick concluded, “Therefore, the good Felix has nothing to fear from a little…  _ lighthearted _ ‘mischief’, a little fox hospitality, nothing more.”

Brown fists unclenched to perch firmly on his hips before Bo answered, “This… will be kind of like  _ bantering _ , then?”

“Only to find out if he’s on the up-and-up,” Nick assured, “After all, we are dealing with a mated pair of conniving, ruthless manipulators, who’ve already proven themselves not only willing and capable of committing atrocities without earning so much as a sidelong glance but having already done so before they  _ ever  _ came to Bunnyburrow.  Allow me a conversation with Felix Lapis, to find out if he’s in with them or not.”

Bo’s shoulders squared higher as he inhaled sharply, and released his breath upon realizing he held it, “I can’t just look the other way on this, you  _ know _ that…”

“I never said you  _ should _ ,” he shrugged with an easy smile, “Did I, Bangs?”

“We’d best have the Burrow Watch’s top fox expert keeping an eye on us, of course, to make sure we stay outta trouble,” Gideon added.

“It would be the responsible thing to do,” Esther agreed, “and goodness knows, we could use the extra help to make sure it goes as smoothly and legitimately as possible.”

“How about it, Punch?” Nick offered, holding out a paw, “You in?”

Bo stared at the palm, and then looked up, “If it’ll bring Judy back,” he resolved, and grasped the fox’s paw, “But… what connection did Magnus and Clea have to Gideon, to do what you said they did?”

Nick grasped the paw a moment before folding both of his behind his back, and strode forward as he spoke, “I figured it was obvious: Grav wanted to meet the ‘monster’ he heard that foxes were, so Clea used him to turn Gideon into one; years later, Reggie learns that that same fox scratches his granddaughter’s face and Clea provides the means to ‘cure him of his predatory nature’, along with any inherited predisposition towards violence she could exaggerate from four years of bullying and a father with a mysterious past.  Magnus no doubt supplied her the resources and bunny-power to find out everything she needed to know to make all that happen and being Reggie’s son, likely had his ear on certain matters and maybe even stressed immediate action. As to ‘why’, well…” he said darkly, and then addressed no one directly, “Do I need to go through the laundry list of unspeakable crimes children have been known to be kidnapped for?”

“ _ No _ ,” Esther asserted, “I plan to  _ sleep _ sometime this month,  _ thank you _ .”

And so Nick continued, “Magnus can tell us himself when we land him in the slammer for his most recent assortment of villainy, and if he  _ is _ exploiting Hexward for such, then I don’t doubt that the Felix would be more than happy to be rid of him, provided he’s not in on it himself.”

“Could they really  _ do _ all that?” Bo dreaded.

“As he said, they’ve likely done it before,” Esther lamented, “at least once we can assume with Xander Pounceski, but who knows how many lives they’ve ruined.  Clea’s a  _ disgrace _ to the mental health profession, and the damage her predator therapy has done to the institution is overshadowed only by the damage  _ she’s  _ done to her ‘patients’ and their families.”

“She’ll get what’s coming to her,” Gideon declared, “Her, Magnus, and Grav; the  _ lot _ of ‘em.”

“Indeed they will, but first we need our beloved Judy back,” Nick reminded his collaborators as they returned to the van, “We’ve still quite the road ahead of us, and we’ll need all the gumption we can get.”

 

* * *

The day’s end was nigh.  Clouds gathered in the west but not to hinder the waning rays of golden sunlight, rather catch its oranges, pinks, reds, and purples in a skyward dirge.  Off in a field adjacent to Preds’ Corner General Hospital, visible from its helipad, sat the yellow-striped tent which was destined to bear witness to a fatal tragedy, instead hosted merriment, justice, and resolution; at that moment, it was repurposed by a string or two pulled from Bo Briar, its walls rolled up to become a canopy over a temporary linoleum floor and sturdy wood table and chairs.

Nearby and downwind was a grill tended by Gideon Grey, preparing an assortment of shish-kebabs to wet the palate of predator and prey alike.  He wore formal black slacks and a white button-up shirt of a sheen-boasting fabric, with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and collar open, front draped in a thick apron.  A pair of dark sunglasses sat above his eyes as he watched, turned, and seasoned the food.

At one side of the table sat Esther Grey, garbed in a sleek, onyx formal skirt and cream blouse, boasting a frill up its center and shiny buttons on the cuffs.  Her bangs remained pinned to one side of her face, held up by the red-and-green barrette, and a pair of petite, round sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose.  The laptop which securely held all her work was in the briefcase unclipped and awaiting its utilization near her crossed legs.

On the other side of the table was Bo Briar, done up in black dress slacks and a red, silk shirt, cuffs left open and a pair of reflective sunglasses folded to hang in the ‘V’ of his partially open garment.  It was quick, about as last-minute as he could manage, but he found those that were willing to set up the tent, the grill, the table… as well as the red carpet and the large sign reading “FELIX” on the top of the tent facing the helipad.

And Nick Wilde, who sat at one end of the table facing the oncoming helicopter and whose silver tongue and casual charisma tied everything up in due time, fished out the second suit his father loaned him before he left the city.  Unlike the other, more business-casual colors, this one was black and dark-gray pinstriped, the shirt a fine silk with austere, metallic buttons, and the tie a solid streak of blood-red scarlet, that in the sunset looked ablaze. He was the only one of the four without sunglasses, letting instead his vibrant green eyes watch out over the expanse as the helicopter landed.

It was small, as it was for a rabbit, and when its landing skids settled onto the helipad, its main rotor blades folded back over the tail.  The pilot was barely visible through a tinted cockpit window, only a vague shape especially at the distance it was, but a shiny black vehicle drove up on the side facing away from the tent.  The distant sound of doors opened and closed, muffled by the sizzle of shish-kabobs, and as the vehicle departed it took a turn not towards the town, but indeed, towards those awaiting the Felix, even coming to a full stop at the end of the red carpet.  The chauffeur hopped out, a taller, proper rabbit in a pressed uniform, and approached the door to open it. Out stepped who could only be Felix Oswald Lapis himself, a long-eared rabbit with pitch-black fur and a snow-white face, and though of average height and build he stood in a towering, lordly manner.  From the midnight blue of his shawl-lapel suit to the bright gold of his smooth buttons that glinted in the sunset, he was a rabbit of a commanding presence, and scanned those present without a sound or hardly an expression until he saw Bo… and his face flickered with disappointment. One of his tall ears then pivoted to the  _ other  _ rabbit stepping out from the car behind him and into view, and so did a tremor shake the four of them to their cores when they saw with whom the Felix kept company…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lady Laverne,
> 
> It took me a week to gather the courage to write you, to even pen the header of this missive with so intimate an address as your first name. The circumstances surrounding when we met... they are but a blur to me. What happened? Who was there? What only mattered was your paw in mine. That was months ago, I had counted them but my first mate tells me I am wrong... that I miscounted since I last saw you! Surely, so grand a jest could only be laughable and I did, I laughed aloud until I cried... recounting the months since I saw you last, realizing how long it had been... The days grow dark without you... I fooled myself into thinking I could subsist on dreams of you, waking memories of you... and each thought into which you drift as does a snowflake or a flower petal is a single instant that I cherish and agonize. Fear grips my heart, dreading what should come if I am ever to see you again, hear you again, touch you again... what would come of me...
> 
> I am smitten, my dearest Laverne, and had the sun's rays turned to spears they'd not pierce me hotter nor surer than did that moment we shared... that single instant that was ours and ours alone. Ours cannot be, however, I know this and have accepted it. But should I come by Forestdwell again... might I have just one more moment with you? Might I turn your ear, might I catch your eye?
> 
> ...Might I hear your voice? Even in so dark and cruel a world as this, might I understand for a single, fleeting second what goodness is? ...Can I understand it...? If it is from you... Lovey, perhaps so... perhaps I am truly to be smitten if so. Just so.
> 
> [pieced together from the shreds of a mariner's letter]

_ “Stretching as far back as when history was first recorded, or perhaps a little farther, the lore of small prey species has been almost exclusively cautionary tales, barring few exceptions; as a literary example, the average mouse culture has over fifty different words for ‘the end of the world’, in contrast to the singular squirrel legend of ‘Wart’, a peasant destined to be and ordained as king through the aid of a wizard.  During the reign of King Richard Lionheart -- the earliest era of recorded, continuous history from modern times -- those numerous oral traditions were collected by what would eventually be known as ‘The House of Blessings’, a unified body of different species that grew in prominence as a representation of all mammals, both big and small, prey and predator alike, as its morals and allegories coalesced into ‘The Hexward Tenets’. Over the centuries, mammals continued to evolve and civilize, so their ancestral wisdom formed a foundational tradition for healthy, happy, and fortuitous living…” _

_ And along the way, some superstitions popped up that tend to overshadow the more thought-provoking parables, _ Judy added, closing the heavy account of  The Hexward Tenets: a History to re-occupy its void upon the shelf and leaning over from the ladder to do so.  She reached as far as possible with a grunt and a surprised ‘ _ woop’ _ , only to have the ladder glide nearer to the book’s place, affording her leverage and balance in her task.  Exchanging a smile with the young rabbits at the ladder’s base, Judy slid far enough that she could hop off without effort and land gracefully behind them.

“ _ Please _ be careful, Ms. Hopps…” fretted one of those waiting on the ground as they both pivoted about in a panicked turn.

“ _ Plum _ ,” she admonished good-naturedly, straightening the salmon blouse she wore with a quick tug at the hem.

“Sorry,” “Plum” immediately said, shying away with a smile, “I mean…  _ Judy _ .”  Plum was a bright, speckled bunny who wore a yellow ribbon at the base of her ear, its long tail draped over the shoulder of her midnight blue school uniform, “I’m not used to referring to an adult, much less an honored guest, so casually…”  With her paws folded at her waist, she shimmied such that her skirt swayed about her knees, and glanced at the female guard in her austere black suit standing well out of arm’s reach of Judy, but still ever-present.

Purple eyes joined in the glancing, knowing full well that the guard’s ears were perpetually erect and pointed at her, before addressing the pair of speckled bunnies (whose patterns no doubt shared a lineage, though distinctly different).  “You’re right, though,” Judy said, to which Plum looked up, “I need to be more careful on a ladder, and should have taken the time to move it to where I wanted it, instead of leaning off it. Thank you for correcting it, Tucker, I would have had quite the fall if you hadn’t,” she then said to the young boy rabbit, whose warm cheeks raised in a smile, even though his head bowed as he attempted to avert his eyes away, one of which had a brown wedge in an otherwise blue iris.

“You’re welcome, Ms… I mean,  _ Judy _ ,” he quietly said and fiddled with the tie of his own midnight blue school uniform.

She sighed thoughtfully and gazed again to the shelf supporting the broad-spined tome, “When I heard there was an original print of that book, I just  _ had _ to see it for myself, and I wasn’t disappointed,” and beamed a warm smile to them both.   _ This library is truly amazing,  _ Judy wondered as she swept the student-filled atrium, the glass dome perhaps the largest source of natural light  _ inside _ the Hopps Manor; it was itself more than a luxurious home, but for the numerous bunny families that resided in it, a societal microcosm in its own right.   _ If I hadn’t been kidnapped, I would love to live here for a few days, or a week even!  I’ve wanted to visit Knotash for the longest time… it’s too bad it was under such… atrocious circumstances, _ and flattened her brow while gazing up at the ceiling.  Her smile returned to the patient siblings standing nearby, “Okay, what should we do next?”

“Well…” Plum thought, looking to convene with her brother, “Since you like history, we can always go to the artifact room?”

Judy inwardly squealed, “An  _ artifact _ room?”

Tucker nodded and quietly added, “It’s where they keep the  _ first _ printing of that book, Ms. Judy.”

“ _ Tucker _ ,” Plum rebuked, “It’s only there when it’s  _ not  _ in the House of Blessings.”

“It is?” he asked, crestfallen, and looked up in remorse, “But there’s, umm… there’re  _ other _ artifacts in there,  _ too _ .”

With an excited coo, Judy leaned in and held out her paws to each sibling, “I would  _ love _ to see them,” and the speckled pair each cradled one of her gray paws to escort her through the library, as quietly as they may in their jubilation as the stoic guard followed close behind.

* * *

_ It was 4AM, the “witching hours”, as Esther was apt to point out.  Steam and patience ran low, but she, Nick, and Judy were so close to wrapping up that case against Magnus and topping it with a bow; happy birthday. _

_ Nick had information, but he hid it from them, like anything he had could upset Judy or Esther so much that he felt they needed his protection.  Even if it was something he got from his connections in the underworld or “Underland”, that far-reaching shadow of Zootopia existing right under its surface where the law was more “guidelines”, if that; the darknet ran through it and from it, more like a “web” than anywhere else in the city… if the world.  He used them before and will use them again, connections like “The Sparrow” and goodness knows who else, wading through the muck and mire and coming out with only the faintest sheen of darkness clinging to his ankles, and only long enough for anyone to notice before he was spotless once more. Such was a fox. _

_ They both chased him around the kitchen, the living room, they yelled at him, called him everything under the sun, loud enough to wake the dead… but Gideon slept through it all; Judy would be thankful for that, thinking back on it.  They were tired, they were agitated, and they fed off each other against a common irritation that appeared to belittle them… it happened again. _

_ What little sense it made when Nick threw his phone into the rain barrel.  What more sense it made when he pleaded they stop and listen. That he was trying to protect them both because what he received was of Gideon… and amidst their cloud of indignation was his profound sadness, whether he really knew it.  Nick turned to Esther to comfort her, and Judy looked at the rain barrel in regret… it happened again. _

_ What a long day it’d been, a long and arduous day learning so many things that she felt responsible for…  Finding out that the Pred-Scare followed her from the city, but she was so wrapped up in her own self-torment to do anything about it…  Finding out about Gideon’s scars and where they came from, and the recursion of despair when the truth came to light, how they could only hold each other, weeping… it happened again. _

_ It happened again; Judy let her emotions get the better of her more in one day than in the past few years, and as it was when she was very young, affected those around her until she was a maelstrom.  When she was very young, things were always  _ more _ with Judy around.  Happy things were happier.  Scary things were… scarier. Sad things, sadder.  Bad things… seemed worse. No one ever really noticed that it was on her account, certainly not Judy, until Uncle Terry, from her mom’s side of the family, explained it to her.  He said that she was a “reflector” like him, someone whose empathy was so intense that they bounced emotions back to others like a mirror. Judy asked if she had a “superpower” or “magic”, to which Uncle Terry laughed his hearty laugh and answered, “Maybe!”.  He was always an odd one, that Uncle Terry, but he was always kind and helped her recognize what her empathy -- a trait of all mammals that was stronger in prey species, stronger in rabbits, and stronger in Judy -- meant to those around her. He helped Judy keep her emotions in check, taught her how to put up “safeguards” not only for her own protection but for others, and most importantly, told her that she, of all bunnies, could probably change the world if she wanted to; that she could encourage others to do good alongside her.  Judy took his lessons and guidance to heart, truly feeling she could -- and indeed, that it was her  _ duty _ to -- make the world a better place. _

_ These were Judy’s final thoughts before dropping unconscious from a sniper’s tranq… _

* * *

It was some time after dawn and Judy’s head was wedged between two hornet’s nests with the volume cranked to eleven.  The  _ instant _ consciousness once more imbued her, however, she sprung upright with ears at full attention, eyes wide as saucers to scan the area.  It was, without a doubt, a lovely room, perhaps the poshest sleeping arrangements she’d ever seen, outside of the Palm Hotel.  _ What is this place? _ she doubted, lightly pawing at the cloud-like cotton sheets and pillow into which she was tucked, kneading the almost surreal softness in her fingers while holding it to an otherwise scantily covered chest.  It was then she realized that not only was any exhaustion washed from her system like grime, but indeed, any grime in her fur was, similarly, gone.  _ I was bathed… _ she suspected, and sniffed at an arm,  _ With some kind of… ivy-scented soap, I think… _

Electricity shot through her, snapping from idle wonder back to full alert, even scooting away from where her ears and eyes directed with all due indignation.  “Grav!” she nearly shrieked, every ounce of iron will maintaining some moniker of dignity, but of the multitudinous inquiries available, Judy demanded a single one: “What’re you doing here?”

The butterscotch rabbit sat quietly in a corner of the room, immediately beyond the substantial range of her peripheral vision and upon a simple settee near the window, if out of its light such that his silhouette was little more than a minor aberration to its projection.  Grav’s cheek rest upon a fist, leaning on the furniture’s arm with a leg crossed over the other in languid patience, eyes cast down to a book held in one paw, which he didn’t bother to depart as he answered, “Reading.” The word was weighed with such authority and simplicity, it hardly needed to be said, and oddly, it was not with any overt sarcasm or mockery.

What was oddest for Judy to hear was his voice.  She’d heard its tenor and pitch before, but couldn’t pick it out of a thousand samples like the voices of others, specifically her loved ones, by the emotional significance to which she assigned them.  Nick finally figured out her “system” the night before, and certainly seemed proud that he did so;  _ he  _ invigorated, Bo soothed, Esther steeled, and Gideon beseeched… yet in all the years that they knew each other she never “heard” anything in Grav’s voice, aside from the words he spoke.   _ Except for that one time he asked me to sing for him back when we were teenagers, and then ridiculed me with an ‘A-minus for effort’ _ , Judy recalled, and did not scowl at the memory but rather stared harder at the rabbit in repose near the window.  She felt a depth in his voice for the second, maybe the third time ever, but she was certain that an association to it was possible,  _ Maybe… _ Judy pondered,  _ maybe like scratching at a door… _

**I’m here.**

…he seemed to “say”.

The covers were pulled closer, though not out of fear, as Judy narrowed her eyes, “What happened last night?  Where are my friends?”

Morning sun gleamed off his book’s weathered cover as it clapped shut, a small, black thing with a strong resemblance to an old-timey journal, complete with a length of twine to tie around a knot on the front.  Grav’s long-eared shadow invaded the window’s light as he approached the bed, and defying expectation, was not only dressed but disheveled such that he might’ve awoken only minutes before if his wrinkled under-tee and shorts were any indication.  Laying the book on the adjacent nightstand with a passive solemnity, Grav sat and raised a folded leg to pivot in address, “An  _ excellent _ question,” he informed with all his familiar shallowness, in both cordial voice and bright smile glimmering off the outside light, “The way I hear it, you were spirited out of Bunnyburrow to the Hopps Manor, here in Knotash, and I’m positively  _ giddy _ to report that your foxes will be  _ just fine _ …”

Judy didn’t waver.  “ _ Provided _ ?”

“Provided  _ you  _ behave.  Should be a cakewalk for ‘Saint Judy’,” he mentioned offhandedly, and as her eyebrows knitted,  _ his  _ arched in the stretching silence between them, and so he folded his paws in a half-formed lap.  “Did I get that right? I’m afraid I’m not  _ as _ experienced with the mafia as  _ you  _ are, even if you don’t  _ actually _ engage in any of the… shadowy dealings.  Which, coincidentally, is what earned you the backhanded title of ‘saint’, isn’t it?” he explained, and at the blinking unresponsiveness, continued, “How  _ is _ your goddaughter Judy, Judy?”

“You stay away from her and Fru Fru,” she warned, “They’re not part of this, and I’ll have you know that Mr. Big withdrew from a lot of his  _ former _ crime-”

“I remember a quaint saying,” Grav interrupted, “It goes something like, ‘All evil needs to succeed is for good mammals to do nothing’,” and then touched his mouth as he looked away in dismay, “Oh  _ no _ , I seem to have sent mixed messages… if you  _ behave _ , those foxes of yours  _ should  _ be okay, but if you do  _ nothing _ , ‘evil’ will not only succeed but  _ flourish _ .  What a dilly of a pickle this is,” and hummed in thought, before smiling at her once more, “Well, you have all morning to ruminate on it.  I imagine you’ll want to get dressed, though, can’t have you  _ waltzing _ about the manor in your… well, in a bed sheet,” and leaning in on an arm, spoke lower, “ _ I  _ wouldn’t object, but there are some bunnies here with certain…  _ sensitivities _ , we’ll say.”

Judy glowered and balled her paws into fists around the sheets, hot though her ears were, “What is  _ wrong _ with you?  Is this  _ fun _ , or something?” she scolded.

“Well, it’s no game of  _ croquet _ …”

“Your dad just tried to  _ kill  _ a bunch of bunnies, by using a drug that causes something that also shatters the brain of any predator unlucky enough to be within earshot of them when they die!  At least, that’s what he’s  _ trying _ to do, and the world should consider itself lucky  _ indeed _ if it’s an absolute  _ failure _ !” Judy continued, “And all so you can adorn your wall with the head of someone who, for  _ some _ inexplicable reason, only wanted to be your friend!  I really don’t care  _ how _ bad a childhood you’ve had, Grav, but  _ nothing _ justifies this!”

He shrugged and frowned in an awkward kind of way, “I  _ did _ say it was ‘evil’.  Not sure what else you’re expecting,  _ Saint  _ Judy.”

Gray fur bristled from neck to ear tips, “I can’t  _ believe _ you.  It’s like you have some kind of… ignorance or negligence to common decency.  It’s  _ absolutely _ incredible!”

Butterscotch ears swiveled, ever erect and scanning as his face trained on her, “I’m an odd one, I’ll give you that, I think it has to with the maddening idea that I’m never  _ really _ alone, but all the same, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt if I let you in on a… a little  _ secret _ ,” he leered, and scooted closer on the bed.

Judy squeezed in against the headboard and its accompanying pillows, jaw setting and lips pursing as she stared at the male rabbit inched nearer and nearer until the shift of his weight on the mattress was tangible.  “You, stay back!” she commanded, eyes darting down at her legs folding under the covers and knew she couldn’t very well  _ kick _ him considering her current… state, so instead pointed with conviction, “Not any closer!”

Grav gingerly hushed her with a finger touched against his still grinning lips, and gradually leaned in, “All I ask is four minutes…”

A fierce crack echoed as Judy introduced her fist to his face, nose scrunched up and wiggling as she pulled back her arm for another shot, “Next one goes to the  _ throat _ , bucko.”

He reeled and grunted as his eyes rolled about in his skull, rubbing the cheek and jaw with a laugh, “Wow!  You’ve got a  _ mean _ jab…” and reached in to feel at a tooth, saying to himself, “No, still in there.”

“Get.  Out.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed congenially and shuffled off the bed, standing and stretching with an arm to the ceiling, but did not bother to turn or even look over a shoulder as he spoke, “Concerning your foxes, I don’t know what ‘happened last night’, or rather ‘this morning’, only that they are being held in the interim.  As for  _ us _ , I sat over there and watched you sleep…”  pointing to the settee near the window. His paws went to his hips as his face turned so she could see its profile, though he glanced upward and jut out his jaw, “Watched  _ over _ you,  _ while  _ you slept, I mean,” and peering over his shoulder, so continued, “Anyway, do what you like with your day, but I’d like to invite you to dinner tonight, if you’re available.  The guard should be in shortly to keep an eye on you, so  _ do _ try to mind your manners while she’s around… she’s  _ much _ stricter than  _ I _ am.  If you need anything, anything at  _ all _ , let someone know and someone  _ else _ will provide it for you.”  With a wiggle of his fingers and a confident stride, Grav exited.

_ The nerve!  _ she fumed, _ Like he’s doing me some kind of favor after kidnapping me and tormenting my friends… _   Knees pressed close to not only each other but her chest as it heaved with barely contained indignation.  Cold washed down her spine as her head rolled back onto the enormous pillow which she nearly buried herself in trying to keep away from Grav, and stared at the gradually brighter ceiling,  _ I just hope they’re okay… _   The empty, quiet room, likewise, illuminated gradually, revealing its cherry-wood wardrobe, vanity, and dresser, along with an ornate, folded dividing wall.  Her eyes fell upon where he sat and frowned in doubt,  _ Still… what did he mean by ‘watched over’ me?  It certainly looked like he awoke out of a dead sleep, or something, _ and then noticed that small black book sitting on the nightstand.

Judy stared at it, lips puckered in a mixture of confusion and curiosity,  _ Did he forget that, or leave it on purpose? _ she questioned, eying first the door behind which he disappeared before scooting as quick as she dared to the other side of the bed, and picked up the mysterious book.   _ No writing on the spine or cover…  I’d wager this was professionally made, but not manufactured; probably commissioned from a specialist binder to make it appear turn-of-the-century. _   Her body once more reclined, Judy breathed in its scent and listened to its pages flutter (something she always enjoyed, whether it was new or old) and spared another glance at the door.   _ To escape, I must overcome my enemy, but to do that, I need to first  _ know _ my enemy.  So tell me, Grav, what did you grab last minute to keep you company… _

* * *

While it was certainly no match to the splendor of the Natural History Museum at City Center, the Hopps Manor had its own gallery of artifacts to boast of bunny history.  There were only seven, arranged in a semicircle, each with a plaque and a light to illuminate; behind was a thick, similarly arched wall, with enough space behind it for at least another room.  Judy practically hovered with anticipation as she looked about at the displays and dashed to the first one she came upon with her young, speckled guides in tow, themselves bouncing along in her wake.

“This must be one of the  _ first _ mortar-and-pestles used way back when Hexward was little more than an apothecary’s workshop!” she explained, “It would have been before the three Burrows were even established, but it began in a forested barn in the Deerbrooke territory.  Hares and rabbits worked together to forage herbs and other plants to create poultices, antidotes, and ointments under the protection of the stags, much in the same way farm-rabbits were protected by horses. It’s that same partnership that eventually blossomed from the Hexward of yesteryear, built up into the modern pharmaceuticals giant of Oswald Lapis ( _ before _ he became Felix) and Buckley Stagmire (before  _ he _ ran for office).”

“Tucker wants to be a pharma-… phar-ma-ceuti-cal-ist…” Plum attempted to sound out.

“ _ Pharmacist, _ ” Judy kindly corrected.

“A  _ pharmer _ ,” she giggled, “like Felix Lapis.”

“The Felix is versed in  _ numerous _ sciences, like chemistry and biology, but he specializes in medicines and mammalian anatomy,” and then Judy smiled to the boy rabbit standing close by, “You’ll need to study and work  _ extra _ hard to be as good as Felix Oswald Lapis.”

His eyes brightened with inference, “Could I… could I  _ be _ the Felix?” he asked in wonder.

Her own violet eyes shined as he knelt down to lift his chin, “You can be whatever you put your heart to,” and then touched his nose.

Plum hopped around to stand beside her starstruck brother, “Ms. Judy, Ms. Judy, do the  _ next _ one!” she pleaded, and tugged on the gray paw to lead her over to a display with a single, small bronze sigil sitting inside; a depiction of a four-leaf clover…

“Except one of the leaves is split in half,” Judy observed under her breath, hips cocked to one side with a furrowed brow, one paw at her waist with the other cradling her chin.  She leaned in to better examine it and looked around for the plaque upon which an exposition might enlighten her. “‘This trinket was found pinned upon the tunic of a slain rabbit nearly 500 years ago, but its origins have since been shrouded in mystery.  To date, it’s depiction is unique from anything else of that era, and is the earliest known use from which all others of its likeness stemmed.’…” she read aloud.

“What do  _ you  _ think it means, Ms. Judy?” Tucker asked.

She stood erect and crossed her arms to mull it over, “I can’t say I’m familiar with this symbol, but I’m  _ sure _ I've seen it before.  However, I  _ am  _ certain that  _ this  _ clover was cleaved unintentionally, judging by the angle of the cut.”  Judy spared another minute of quiet contemplation before smiling, “And unless I’m very much mistaken, those markings on the leaves means it was made from a farthing of King Lionheart’s reign,” the gray rabbit postulated, adopting a scholarly tone, “If I were to make an educated guess, since it was found on a  _ slain _ rabbit and sigils are often pinned to the chest, it’s possible that whatever slew that rabbit split the leaf.

“As for its  _ meaning _ …” she continued, and let her foot tap lightly on the ground three times, and then pointed a finger high and smiled, “Perhaps the symbol of the split leaf was used by  _ other _ rabbits as a rallying point.”

“A ‘rallying point’?” Plum wondered.

“To unite for a common cause,” Judy said, and leaned forward once more to brace her knees, her purple-eyed reflection on the glass joined by the speckled bunnies rising up on their toes, “It’s a sigil made from a coin, which tells me it was a  _ gift _ and a very special gift at that.  Whoever wore this was a trusted rabbit, and their death might’ve been due to betrayal, or perhaps they gave their lives to save someone else.”

A pair of gasps on either side of Judy swiveled her ears, and she stood up to find that both Plum and Tucker had crossed their fingers, closed their eyes, held their breaths, and bowed their heads in reverence.  Judy smiled to this and did the same,  _ I wish, that should I die today, it is in service to others that they may live; blest be, _ she recited to herself, and opened her eyes to the sounds of either sibling releasing their breaths.  “Whoever this bunny was was certainly brave,” she said,  _ Come to think of it, Grav had a four-leaf clover on his shirt today, and split one of the leaves with a marker… I should ask him about that, provided there’s time, _ decided Judy, but before she sobered up  _ too _ much, looked about at the other artifacts,  _ I could spend all day in here, thinking about each of these… _ and stopped upon spotting the furthest of the seven, the one in the middle of the semi-circle they all formed.  “Is that… it  _ couldn’t _ be…” she gawked, and strode over to resist the urge to press her nose against the glass, “Oh my gosh, it  _ is _ !”

Once again, she was flanked by the young bunnies that scampered over when they realized she left, and then Tucker giggled, “ _ This _ one’s my favorite,” he said.

“That’s because  _ you _ like  _ stags _ ,” Plum teased.

“ _ So? _ ”

“Incredible, an  _ intact _ jackalope antler…” Judy marveled, “This must be tens of thousands of years old… maybe older!  Just imagine, inside  _ there _ is the DNA of our progenitors, both hares and bunnies alike, separated by a  _ single _ degree of evolution, and only because bunnies are speculated to have shed their antlers  _ first _ to begin burrowing.  It’s said that the rivalry between rabbits and hares stems from that single point in time as the former evolved  _ smarter _ , but the latter evolved  _ stronger _ .  But remember,” Judy was quick to point out, turning to either kit, even taking a step back so that she could speak to the both of them simultaneously, “We are  _ not _ to judge one another by species, whatever they may be, but by their actions and decisions as individuals.”

Such an observation seemed to bewilder the young bunnies, but they both smiled all the same in nodding, rapt agreement.  As they each looked about to direct Judy to the  _ next _ artifact, a stoic, professional voice rose up from the guard.  “Ms. Hopps,” she said, and pulled a finger down from her ear as Judy turned to face her, “You’ve been granted permission to view  _ his _ private collection.”  An explanation hardly seemed necessary to whom “his” referred, especially when Judy felt both her paws grasped by tinier ones and held close; she, in turn, pulled Plum and Tucker a bit closer.

“Brother Grav’s collection is  _ scary _ ,” Tucker whispered.

“I saw inside once… there’s something pretty in there, but I didn’t go in…” Plum concurred.

Judy looked to them both in turn, and then smiled politely to the guard, “Thank you, Hilde, but I shall like to decline the invitation, with all due respect.”

“Hilde” glanced in the direction of her ear-mic, and it seemed to stiffen her a bit more, “He insists, and… ‘you won’t be disappointed’,” she reported.

Judy stood straighter with a single, quiet gulp, “ _ Won’t _ I?” she defied, and then pivoted in kneeling address to the two youngest, smiling once again as she lightly held their shoulders, “I think I should accept this invitation, I am his guest, after all… but if it’s  _ really _ scary, I’ll need some brave bunnies to help me.  Can I count on both of you, as my guides?” she asked.  Plum and Tucker exchanged worried glances, to which Judy inched herself closer, “We’ll only be in there long enough to see something pretty and then we’ll be out in a flash.  Okay?”

Tucker’s chin trembled, but then nodded assertively, “O-okay, Ms. Judy!” he exclaimed… quietly.

“M-me too!” Plum immediately said, “I’ll guide you, too!”

Judy beamed and scooted in to double-hug the kits with a coo, “ _ Oh _ , thank you.  Alright, let’s go!” she said, and stood up to turn around, tiny paws clasping hers as she nodded to the guard, “Lead the way.”

The black-suited guard nodded simply and turned on a heel towards the edge of the arched wall behind the displays, ear pointing at Judy and the children clinging to her as she advanced.  Behind and around, where the soft white glows of the display cases was replaced with a somber aura as if from a streetlamp, Hilde directed the trio towards the staging area of the artifact room, where it was clear that the semi-circular dividing wall could actually disappear into the floor if need be.  Further back was a set of sturdy double doors, likely enough where artifacts and other such items could be wheeled through to either clean or put out for viewing. Hilde approached one of those doors and grasped the handle until a soft green light chimed where the keyhole would be, and audibly unlocked; she held it open for the three of them to go through.

“Down the hall on the left,” Plum whispered, holding tighter onto Judy as they entered.  Inside was well lit… not  _ as _ well lit as the artifact room or staging area, but well enough.  Straight on was a freight elevator, and down the left, a hallway that ended in a single, metal door.  They waited for Hilde to close the double-door behind them, heard the latch, and followed her onward until, likewise, they need only stand and wait for the vault-like barrier to unlock from an unseen force, and for the black-suited guard to open it.

Plum and Tucker squeezed closer to Judy as she ushered them in.  There were only three display cases joined by a carpet, and the first two flanking it so that the furthest could only be approached by passing the others… but  _ what _ a thing it was to behold.  “Shave and smoke me…” Judy whispered before she could catch it, speaking so low that she hardly heard herself, and so gazed upon the artifact within its stalwart glass case.  With either kit in tow -- as if they were weightless -- Judy strode past the then-irrelevant  _ other _ displays in a bee-line to what glint off her eyes, and indeed, what caught the breath of both Plum and Tucker when they were near enough to it.

“Oh, my lucky stars!” Plum declared.

“Plum!” Tucker hushed.

“How is this possible?” Judy awed, leaning in to study the artifact, a bejeweled carcanet of gorgeous construction, and began to count, “One, two, three, four… they’re all there, the seven opals of ‘Tears for a Sunset’!” she gleed, violet eyes reflecting the iridescent gems in their gold-filigree embrace, “They were thought lost after she died, maybe three or four recovered at best, but  _ all seven _ .”  She clapped her brow,  _ And this is in a private collection? _ Judy reeled and then realized, “Well, of course, I suppose it would  _ have _ to be.”

“Why would  _ what  _ have to be, Ms. Judy?” Tucker inquired.

“Oh!” the gray rabbit started, “Yes, let me explain…” and looked to each speckled rabbit in turn as they flanked the display, gawking between her and the jewelry, and gestured to the polished nameplate, “Laverne Hopps, my great-great-aunt, was a famous opera singer, and every once in a while she would travel with her father, a merchant, to see the world, drawing inspiration from it and its sunsets to bring songs back to the Kingdom of Forestdwell, where she lived.  While in a distant land, a prince heard her singing and he was  _ so _ captivated by her voice and beauty, that he gifted her these seven opals, unique in all the world, and had them made them into a carcanet, which is a sort of very fancy necklace…  Now, I’m not an expert, but whoever recreated this  _ nailed _ its authenticity…”

“That’s not the real thing?” Plum doubted.

“The  _ opals _ are real,” Judy kindly informed, “but the gold was surely redone…” she then petered off.  Her ears folded back as she looked at either speckled bunny, “Do you… do you know the story of Lovey Hopps?”

Each one deflated, and Plum wiped her eyes as Tucker looked sadly up at Judy.

Judy nodded in response, and began, “She was beloved by all who heard her sing, and was herself a wonderful rabbit to know with friends, family, admirers, sponsors, suitors…  She could have sung for nobility if she wanted to, but she sang for the lower class, like a diamond in the rough, in a theatre on the edge of the slums… Everyone warned her against singing there because that was where the predator population  _ also _ was, but Lovey sang for all mammals, no matter who or  _ what _ they were.

“One day, a royal herald attended her performance and he was so awed by it that she was invited to sing up at the palace.  Her sponsors went to the best dress-maker in the land, and commissioned the finest gown to be worn before the king… She was to travel from her theatre, dressed in a silver lace gown and ‘Tears for a Sunset’, but before she got there…”   Judy heaved a heavy sigh, “Laverne Hopps was attacked by a savage fox from the slums.

“So… something as delicate as this carcanet would have been destroyed,” Judy concluded with a quick clearing of her throat, and welcomed both kits into an embrace, rubbing their backs and looking sadly at the ornate jewelry.  “Anyway, let’s head out,” she, at last, complied and was practically pulled by the paws by the speckled siblings before one of the other displays caught her attention, “Wait…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The squirrel story of Wart references "The Sword in the Stone", when Wart was turned into a squirrel. This was a fine opportunity to demonstrate how even the smallest mammals have epic tales of valor and adventure.
> 
> I would like to introduce you, my dear reader, to one of my head-canons which has no bearing in the movie or peripheral material: Judy is an emotional reflector. There isn't a lot of literature on the subject, admittedly an obscure topic, but this is something I've personally experienced and have seen it referenced in other, equally obscure stories. The premise behind a reflector (as you can infer in the flashback) is that they are a powerful empath (consider: Raven, from the DCU) who not only feels the emotions of those around them and "bounces them back" (i.e., a mirror).
> 
> Amusingly enough, this was also the first time I named the kingdom that "The Burrow" was based on.
> 
> The jackalope antler mentioned here references one of the dioramas in the Natural History Museum at the end of the movie and it seemed like a great idea to use for a sort of... cave-bunny, acting as a progenitor for all Lapine species. Did you know that rabbits are related to deer? Pretty neat, I'd say.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	24. Chapter 24

“Ms. Judy…” Plum pleaded.

“I’m sorry, Plum,” Judy said and knelt to rub her cheek, “but I want to take a  _ teensy  _ look, okay?”

She wrung the tails of her yellow ribbon, and when Tucker grasped her paw, he nodded, “Whatever you wanna see, Ms. Judy.  We’re b-brave bunnies, you know,” came a quiet declaration.

Unlike before, both young rabbits were at one side to Judy, and she held a paw to them as best she could to inspect the double-long display case, so labeled with the nameplate, “Hector Howard”, and housing two items: a wax cylinder and a small black book.  “ _ That  _ one’s definitely from the turn-of-the-century,” Judy thought aloud, recalling the one left in her room that morning,  _ It must’ve been recreated, and it wasn’t black originally, but charred on the outside.  Pulled from a fire, perhaps?  With the warping of the pages, it looks like there’s so much Grav condensed. _   Out of the corner of an eye, she saw “Tears for a Sunset” and considered what she read…  _ The journal of a rabbit with a profound, poetic soul who sailed the seas and saw atrocities that no mammal should ever witness…  In his latter years, he met Lovey on a chance encounter, and vowed to find her again, only to fall into despair at the news of her death, _ she lamented, and icy cold washed over her when she remembered the last entry:  _ “What a miserable world it is that I am called to shoulder the sword of justice.” _

“And that wax cylinder… it must be one of the first ever made unless I miss my mark,” Judy wondered, and saw a bright, plastic button on the display case next to a speaker, “It was digitized…” and looked to the smaller bunnies.  They were clearly upset, but when both gazed up at her she knelt between them to once more embrace, “Just a little longer, I promise.” Judy waited for their whimpering nods before she reached out and began the playback:

_ “Little moth, little moth _

_ Dancing around the flame, _

_ Seeing light b’yond the night _

_ It, through the window, came. _

 

_ “Little moth, little moth _

_ Dancing in candleglow, _

_ Glistening off its wing _

_ As it flit, to-and-fro. _

 

_ “Little moth, little moth _

_ Dancing amidst the blaze _

_ Turned to ash in a flash, _

_ Ending little moth’s days.” _

The recording finished, its quality no doubt superb as it enunciated every fault of the dated technology it captured, and the three stared before Plum hushed a whine, “But that’s not how ‘Little Moth’ goes…?”

_ That’s how it was in his journal _ , Judy rued,  _ His voice is as forlorn and haunted as I imagined it would be, _ and kissed Plum’s cheek, “I’m sorry, guys, that was really scary…”

“I-I’m not scared…!” Tucker asserted, gripping Judy’s side tighter, “A-Are  _ you _ scared, Plum?”

“N-No, not me!” she denied.  When standing straighter, the speckled girl bunny spun around and thrust a finger at the third and final display, “Wh-What’s  _ that  _ one, Ms. Judy?”  Even in her burst of courage, it was clearly a challenge for her to ask.

Craning her neck first to glimpse what newly stayed her juvenile guides, Judy rose to read, re-read, and re-read again the nameplate to whom the artifact belonged, an artifact that by its size alone could not possibly belong in any history of Knotash, much less bunnies.  “‘Piberius Savage’,” Judy finally admitted in choked awe, “The ‘Scarlet Hook’ itself; ‘The Executioner’; ‘The Reaper’s Crook’.  It’s said to have punctured over a  _ hundred  _ skulls before Captain Savage disappeared into the ocean mists…”  She gawked and stared at the wickedly curved iron mounted upon a wooden cuff, its straps long enough to, roughly, reach from a fox’s wrist to his elbow, and then up to another buckled cuff around the bicep.   _ This belonged to Nick’s grandfather… and he was Gideon’s grandfather, too, wasn’t he… _ Judy remembered and read once more the “Piberius” which both foxes shared as a middle name, and the “Savage” which their mothers shared as a maiden name,  _ No meager coincidence, but there’s something else here, isn’t there Grav… _

“Ms. Judy…!” Tucker and Plum pleaded in turn.

Judy caressed their ears and then turned to the guard, “Hilde,” she instructed, earning a stiff attention, “Please escort them outside and wait for me,” and ushered the children accordingly.

“Ms. Hopps-” Hilde denied.

“And give me your earpiece.  I need to speak with Grav.”

“I  _ cannot _ -” the guard resisted, stopped immediately, and then put a finger to her ear with visible disapproval, “But-” she continued, listened, and then hardened, “Yes, sir.”  Removing the  Bluefang device, Hilde whipped out a handkerchief from her coat pocket and thoroughly cleaned it before relinquishing it, “Don’t put it in until  _ after _ we leave,” she instructed, and took both speckled bunnies gently by the paw to turn in all due professionalism, soon disappearing behind a closed, locked, metal door.

_ That sounded like she was asking me herself,  _ Judy observed and carefully fitted the earpiece in, flinching at the quiet static before she spoke, “Grav?”

“You’re not disappointed, I think,” came the voice in her head.

Judy steeled herself, which was easier due to only suffering his voice rather than his presence, “Well, not at first.”

“Oh?   _ Do  _ tell.”

“I’m impressed by the devotion to detail of Lovey’s carcanet, something like that can’t have been easy to restore considering how  _ little _ imagery there is of her wearing it, so, credit where credit is due,” Judy extrapolated, pivoting towards the jewelry in a scholarly manner, “By the way, can you see me?”

“Not as such, no, but I can hear everything and am sure the way you handle children is a treat to watch.”

“Are there no cameras in here?” she doubted and swiveled an ear to the soft buzzing of a lens off in a corner of the ceiling.

“There  _ are _ , but I’m not in the control room,” he explained, “Guess where I  _ am _ and win a prize.”

_ Judging by the sound of a socket wrench and the drip of some viscous fluid, along with the tiny smear of motor oil staining the base of your ear that I saw this morning, you’re probably under a car somewhere; better hope that jack is sturdy,  _ “I haven’t the foggiest, but let’s stick to one game at a time, shall we?”

“Oh… very well,” he sighed, “And yes, the fabled ‘Tears for a Sunset’ returned to its full glory.  You’re right, it  _ wasn’t _ easy, but thank you for the compliment; I take pride in my work.”

“Wait…  _ you _ restored it?”

“Found and purchased, too; the pawn shop didn’t even  _ know _ what they had and thought  _ they _ swindled  _ me _ .  Oh, to see their face now…”

_ Mechanic and crafter… good with your fingers with an eye for minutiae, I imagine _ ,  _ and no small amount of patience _ , Judy pondered,  _ And considering how clean your paws were just yesterday, you must bleach them, or something.  _  She turned towards the double-case display with the book and wax cylinder, “Now, this ‘Hector Howard’ rabbit, whose journal you so conveniently left on my nightstand, is someone you obviously take after.”

“Good going, detective, but what of it?”

Judy crossed her arms comfortably and shifted weight to one leg, “A prominent rabbit  _ also  _ named ‘Howard’ that springs to mind is the founding architect of ‘Dr. Henry Howard’s Homes’, but aside from that, the best I can figure is you’re  _ obsessed _ with dark poetry and this period of history.   There are more exciting times to be a sailor, or a  _ pirate _ , for that matter,” and glanced at the display case behind her, “Back when the map still had edges to explore.  So, why focus on some…  _ turn-of-the-century _ folktale?”

He paused a full beat, the ratchet of his wrench even staying, “A  _ folktale _ , say you?”

“Oh, yes, I quite imagine it’s what you wanted to draw my attention to,  _ Grav _ ,” and turned full upon the “Scarlet Hook”, even doing what she not dared before and approached it for a closer inspection, “Now, I’m not an expert historian, but I  _ am _ a thinker and -- not to toot my own horn --  _ quite _ the forensic investigator.  By my reckoning, this… ‘hook’, for lack of a better word, did  _ not _ belong to Captain Piberius Savage.”

The gentle sound of tiny wheels across concrete sounded from the earpiece.  “Didn’t it?”

“Well,” Judy scoffed in no small degree of smugness, “for starters, its tip doesn’t seem strong enough to puncture a skull, and it’s a bit  _ rounded _ , now that I’m looking at it.  Also, I can’t help but notice that it’s more of a  _ blade _ than a hook, except the edge is on the  _ inside _ of the curve.  And, perhaps this is only a trifle, but unless someone repositioned it, Captain Savage could  _ not _ have gotten enough swinging power with it pointed  _ up  _ as it is,” and held out her arm with the thumb extended, eyeballing where the “hook” would point if she wore it, and thusly scoffed again,  _ What was this for, grooming?  Was this even worn by a fox, much less the most feared pirate of all time?  The blade was definitely kept sharp, though, I’ll give him that. _

“From here,” Judy continued, “I might chortle and ridicule you for mistaking a…  _ pruning knife _ for something as dread as the ‘Scarlet Hook’, but I’ll do right by my partner Nick and  _ not _ assume that you’re an  _ idiot _ .” 

“How courteous, but your assumptions are well-founded, and I’m sure you’ll be interested in my findings, what with your  _ fox-craze _ ,” he scathed, but abided, “Captain Savage is such an  _ interesting _ historical figure, and much like a fox, surrounded in mystery and contradictions.  Did you know that his legend  _ spans _ a half-century?  His most infamous act includes disappearing off the face of the planet one hundred years ago, and  _ yet _ there are eyewitness accounts of his continued swashbuckling into the modern era.  Easily explained with  _ charlatans _ and  _ falsehoods _ and other such  _ fox _ things,” he chortled, “Still, it does make one wonder, doesn’t it?”

_ Just what are you trying to goad me into, exactly?  _  “The only thing  _ I _ wonder about is  _ why _ you have a-”

“A ‘pruning knife’, you said,” Grav intercepted, “Rest assured, Judy, that small blade  _ did _ belong to a fox.  There was some blood and tissue just inside the wooden cup and, I can say with certainty, that the DNA is definitively  _ ‘vulpine’ _ .  Now-”

“But was he Captain  _ Piberius Savage _ ?” she pressed.

Grav paused, “There is…  _ testimony _ , that it belonged to  _ a _ ‘Piberius Savage’…” to which a wry, unimpressed grunt was paid before he continued in defense, “It cannot be simple coincidence, such a name as  _ that _ .”

“Well, since you had it  _ tested _ , I’m sure you found quite a  _ bit _ of decayed blood in its resilient rust, no doubt?  The ‘Reaper’s Crook’ laid claim to  _ hundreds _ of lives, and not only by means of puncturing the skull, you know,” and Judy crossed her arms, “A thorough, meticulous rabbit like  _ yourself  _ would leave no stone unturned, yes?”

Meticulous he certainly was, and the frustration in his voice might as well have been telegraphed, “After rigorous testing, there were mainly signs of  _ chlorophyll _ …”

_ That sounds about right _ , Judy pondered, “So… perhaps there was a fox, back in those days, a florist or groundskeeper, perhaps, that took the name of ‘Piberius Savage’ for a reason known only to him?  It was a rough time for most predators back then, especially the smaller ones that relied so heavily on their wits to survive, one can imagine that laying claim to an infamous name might afford him some measure of… security, if used correctly?”

“It is… feasible,” Grav nearly growled.

“Well, an interesting artifact all the same.”

The silence on the other side was palpable, “Did you know that literacy was illegal for  _ shifties _ back then?” Grav asked and could probably hear her flinch, “Foxes especially.  It was believed that their words were curses, that their script could be spread far faster and wider than their voice.  It was a harsh, unfair law but a law all the same, and with it an equally harsh, unfair punishment.”

“‘An eye for reading; a paw for writing’, yes, I know,” Judy rebuked, “but harsher still was the punishment for  _ teaching _ any predator to read and write: death by hanging.”

“You are already deep in a dark history, Saint Judy,” Grav crooned.

“I do  _ not  _ shy away from facts, Grav,” she asserted, “I take in the good  _ and _ the bad, otherwise the latter will only repeat itself.”

“How  _ sagacious _ .”

_ Great, I’ve earned his admiration,  _ she huffed, but then smirked in her adoption of a slightly more mocking tone, “All-in-all, not a  _ bad _ collection, definitely has its highlights,” and once more admired Lovey’s carcanet and Hector’s journal, if at opposite ends of the positivity spectrum, but then relaxed in her returned attention of the false-paw before her.  “If you found something interesting, like, the boogierabbit’s meat hook, I’d be a  _ bit _ less disappointed, but that’s another folktale predating this one  _ by far _ .  He had the same nasty habit, you know, so they say.”

Ratcheting of a socket wrench started up anew, but by the continuous clicking, sounded as though Grav spun it around like a noisemaker, “I’m not sure I’m comfortable having a conversation about the  _ boogierabbit _ over the phone… let’s pick it up at dinner, instead.”

Purple eyes rolled, “Nothing quite like talking about grisly mutilation over  _ food _ .”

“Be sure to wipe off the earpiece before giving it back,  _ Little Moth _ ,” he jabbed.

Grumping, Judy pulled it out and used her shirt, “I’ll give the  _ floor _ a good wiping with your  _ face _ ,” she muttered, blew on it, inspected it, and then wiped it again on her way back to the door.  After a firm knocking, it beeped and unlocked, otherwise silent in its opening with the aid of Hilde.  Judy’s sternness fell away at the realization that  _ only _ Hilde greeted her.  “Where are Plum and Tucker?” she asked,  Bluefang device still held out.

“Their mother came by to pick them up,” the black-suited guard reported but before positioning her retrieved communicator anew, Hilde consoled the remorse in the sigh and gait of the gray rabbit exiting the private collection.  “If I may speak freely, Ms. Hopps,” she offered, closing the door behind and even curling her fingers around the earpiece, “They both loved spending time with you today… even when it was in  _ there _ .  They’re only regret was that they didn’t get to say ‘goodbye’.”

The news helped Judy’s sagging shoulders and drooping ears a bit,  _ It seems everyone is so sad to see me go, today,  _ she ruminated.  There was a quick game of doubles’ tennis in the garden with Jacy, Pewter, and Matt; sneaking a snack from the kitchen with the help of old, kindly Nana Caroline; the class of uniformed students she met in the art gallery that she got to play teacher’s assistant for, and afterward joining Plum and Tucker in the library, where their mother worked.   _ Scouting escape routes in this place was easier than I thought it’d be, there must be a half-dozen different ways I can sneak out.  And everyone here is so nice, but no matter where I go, it’s never a ‘See you later’ or ‘Until we meet again’… It must be a Knotash thing, to part company with such… finality. _

“Ms. Hopps,” Hilde said, finger once more lowering from an ear, and gestured down the hallway towards the double doors, “It’s time to get ready for dinner.”

“Oh, is it that late already?” Judy wondered, but smiled and shrugged her best, “Time sure flies, doesn’t it…”

* * *

Grav’s workshop was empty, as usual, since no one came to visit unless called.  It kept things quiet, allowing him to focus on his projects and hear each rev of his pride-and-joy.  She growled and roared and purred in all the ways he liked, told him whenever something was wrong and he was all too happy to dote on her whims.  He scratched behind a butterscotch ear, right in the coffee-spots at its base before wiping the motor oil from his paws, and then tucked the rag into the back of his oil-stained jeans to lean over the driver side door.  After reaching in around the steering wheel to ignite the hybrid electric motor, he heard the well-tuned symphony of an internal combustion engine and cooed, “Atta girl.”  She calmed until she slept and so allowed the patient presence to be heard of the single, solitary exception to an unspoken rule of Grav’s lack of visitors.

“Old Bun,” Grav announced, but did not bother to look over his shoulder, “Whatever could bring you down from your ivory tower to  _ mingle _ …”

Magnus did not respond immediately, but simply let himself into the workshop.  “I was in the area and thought I’d stop by, maybe have a little  _ chat _ ,” he conversed, and since he wore a rather nice, around-the-house ensemble that could still entertain guests, he was careful not to step on anything in approach to the workbench where the  Bluefang earpiece sat ignored, and then proceeded to fiddle with a flat-head screwdriver.  “Did you enjoy your gift?” he asked, turning to lean while balancing the tool upon its tip, a single finger bracing the butt of the handle.

“You can’t claim it as a  _ ‘gift’  _ when I get it for myself,” Grav rebutted, watching from the corner of his eye as his stuff was, once again, touched, “I didn’t mind picking it up myself, though, and she’s handling it all rather well, considering.  I daresay she’s  _ much _ happier with her new starter- Oh, you mean  _ Judy _ ,” and closed the car’s hood with a soft  _ ‘click’ _ , “Or maybe the blood-and-vomit stained muzzle of a tortured fox kit?  Which, by the way, is rather tacky without the head you promised, so I hope you kept the receipt,” he mocked without hiding his contempt, “You give me  _ so many _ things I don’t ask for, I find it hard to keep track of them all.”

“Don’t ask for, but  _ want _ all the same,” the older rabbit rebuked, “Your bail from a backwater jail cell, for example.”

“If I knew how  _ much  _ I’d be pestered for it, I’d have never run over that half-hare…” the younger rabbit groaned and then leaned in to caress the blood-orange chassis, once more cooing, “I know, I know, I was in another car, but I couldn’t bring  _ you _ out to the country, with all its  _ dirt _ and _ rocks _ and other terrible things…” and then spoke a little louder, “You’d think a lifetime of angelic behavior, perceived or otherwise, would allow  _ one _ discrepancy.  Besides, I heard he was in a  _ tractor-pull _ today, so I can’t have hit him  _ too _ hard.”

Magnus uncurled his fist from the screwdriver after forcibly burying its tip into the finished wood of the workbench.  “‘One discrepancy’,” he repeated coldly, dark eyes watching as the younger rabbit, visibly simmering, sauntered over to dislodge his flat-tipped tool, “A  _ double _ falsehood, because it was your  _ second _ after that stunt you pulled in a  _ hayseed bar _ ,” so rose his voice only to return to an unnerving calm, “and I needn’t explain to you that instigating a hostage situation with  _ vehicular assault _ is  _ not _ a ‘discrepancy’.”

“Fret not, daddy dearest, my good standing is easily earned: a profuse apology, blame forces ‘out of my control’, a  _ generous _ donation with the promise of ‘a new leaf’… yes, that should do the trick,” and paid a venomous smirk to the tightening grimace, “I’ve learned from the best, you know.”

“Mind your tongue, young buck, the only ‘standing’ you should be concerned of is with  _ me _ , which is  _ far  _ from ‘good’.”

“And  _ yet _ , I still received a ‘gift’.”  Grav doubled over when the fist entered his diaphragm, screwdriver clattering to the floor and he not far behind it, starting with his toes returned to concrete and immediately followed by his knees.  One paw clutched solid ground and the other his gut, finishing it all off with a clear regurgitate from the immediately adjacent, gasping mouth.

Magnus crouched, but only so far that he still loomed over his son, “Another gift, one that you did not ask for but received, all the same, is an unbroken face for your dinner tonight.  Cherish it, Grav,” and stood to exit.  He paused at the doorway, though, and full pivoted, “Which reminds me, I came down here to let you know that Judy’s already begun cleaning up to attend and that you should do the same,” he instructed, grinning a wide, malicious grin, “It’d be uncouth to host  _ anything  _ in such a state.”

Grav shook as he stood, glaring his own dark eyes and holding the screwdriver’s handle until his pelt stretched tight over his knuckles.  “Perish the thought, Old Bun,” he coughed, voice straining to maintain a steady tone, standing upright once more to calmly, if trembling, put the tool back in place, “Any more ‘fatherly advice’ or will that be all?”

“Be sure Judy gets back to me intact after your four minutes, but other than that,  _ have fun _ .”

* * *

_ “Detective Lovey sat at her desk in a fitful concentration”… No, no… _  Judy thought,  _ “Detective Lovey paced the length of her desk in stony agitation”, yes, that’s the ticket, _ she determined, and pictured the hardwood, rug-covered floors of a turn-of-the-century office (with some modern conveniences that were still some decades yet to be invented, much less widely used), a bookshelf jam-packed with an encyclopedic treasure trove of reference material from anatomy to zoology and everywhere between, and a glass-paned door that read “Detective L. Hopps and Detective P. Wilde”.   _ “Her piercing, purple”… “piercing, violet eyes scanned the empty desk of her partner, Pib, for the umpteenth time that minute.  The precinct was in a scramble after last night, when it was discovered that not only was a private citizen missing, world-renowned pastry chef Master Piberius Grey, but more suspicious still, his sister, the Honorable Judge Lee Grey, as well as her own trusted partner and friend were all gone without a trace… their one connection?  Each one was a fox.” _

_ Hey, Dawson, _  Judy asked, blinking back to the Hopps Manor.  She tugged the silk, salmon blouse from her waist and over her head to hang it on the dividing wall behind which she was changing, and no sooner had she done so than it was whisked away by one of the attendees on the other side, assigned to assist in her bathing.   _ Would it be too much of a coincidence that two characters have the same, unique name like that? _

“With all due respect,” Dawson said in staunch professionalism, “There are bigger things to worry about than your future detective novel.”  As of yet, Dawson was only a voice in her ear, even if it sounded as though he stood not a few feet from her, but when she closed her eyes and concentrated could envision him red-furred, green-eyed, and in a sharp butler’s outfit with a tablet.

_ I know, I know, but I need my brain to rest after today and creative frivolity is one of the best ways to process information while awake.  Now: identical names, good or bad? _

The imaginary rabbit sighed through his nose, “If you have  _ sound  _ reasoning for why they would have the same first name -- something important to the plot or their backstories -- it won’t feel contrived, or in your case,  _ obvious  _ that they’re based off real-like individuals that you know directly.”

Really, Judy just wanted to hear Nick’s voice because she always felt cleverer with him around, ironically enough, and Dawson sounded identical to him; she had overheard a conversation between Nick and Gideon to thank for that, when the former confessed to the latter that the Night Howler drug gave him an independently thinking hallucination, if only for a day or two.  Her  _ own _ exposure to the drug mixed with the foundation of strenuous mental exercises that got her through college and the academy at the forefront of her class (no small feat for a bunny, in either case), created a mindscape where she had to confront her inner demons to escape or else be lost to a drug-induced pit of despair.  Judy shivered.

"Thinking about ‘The Burrow’ again?” the disembodied voice asked, a bit more sympathetic than she was readily used to hearing from “Nick”.

_It comes and goes…_    _Usually, when I let my mind wander too much,_ she admitted and stepped out of the sapphire capris to take her time folding them with slouched shoulders.  _The Burrow, my own oubliette…_ _It even looked like it was built on top of Rutabega Rock…_ and so her mind ruminated to further slouch her shoulders.

“He’ll forgive you, you know.”

Judy wrung the borrowed trousers and gnawed her lip,  _ I know he will… _

“You’re very forgivable like that.”

_ And Bo’s always been the forgiving sort, _ she couldn’t help but rub the toe of one foot over a toe of the other, if only momentarily, _ despite what he’s been through, I mean; I can’t imagine what it’s like being alone in a room full of rabbits… _

“Can’t you?” Dawson asked, a Dam ocelot es Sword of a question is ever there was one.

Her fur bristled, though not in any show of anger or offense, but at the memory of when she truly believed that she could “Make the world a better place”, only if she were not in it, and the internal crusade she waged sent her into deep depression; weeks on end when it felt like every brother and sister, aunt and uncle, even her own parents were miles away.   _ I don’t think I can ever thank Bo enough for pulling me away from that edge _ , she lamented but felt lighter and warmer with his memory as she flicked her wrist to sling the pants onto the dividing wall which, like the blouse before them, were whisked away.   _ I’ve still got a long way to go before I can face Big Gid and Sissy again, though… and Nic… I promised to save them, but then I… you know, turned the whole place to ash so it can drain into a yawning abyss. _

“Not too unlike the  _ real  _ Forestdwell kingdom.”

_ Thanks, Dawson, that helps,  _ she flatly frowned, but in truth, was glad for the banter.

“Also, if you’re going to stay true to your stint in The Burrow, wouldn’t your story be about ‘Detectives  _ Jude  _ & Pib’?  We can’t forget about a certain purple-eyed gray vixen, after all.”

_ We’re adhering to a strict naming convention, Dawson, and we mustn’t deviate from the truth and prudence of the story, _ she promptly corrected, but before completing the preliminary steps to put on a bathrobe, clapped a fist into her palm in resolution,  _ The library!  There was an alleyway between it and the gallery covered by a lattice of morning glories, _ she recalled.  Eyes closed, she took a seat in the chair provided her to fold both paws beneath a steady nose,  _ Let’s take another look at the map. _

Up popped Dawson behind Judy’s eyelids in his snappy ensemble as she envisioned the route of her escape, starting from the dining area overlooking the garden where she knew for a concrete fact -- thanks to some insight from the kitchen staff -- that Grav had set aside for their private meal.  “I am obliged to repeat your own warnings on the  _ continued _ use of a certain hallucinogenic drug still in your system,” he said, sounding more like a flight attendant than an assistant, “As of yet, it is unclear whether  _ you _ are burning through  _ it _ , or  _ it _ is burning through  _ you _ .”

_ Desperate times, et cetera, _ she dismissed, watching a rough layout of the estate with approximations of distance and time needed to travel, along with points of known surveillance,  _ This should be the last piece of the puzzle.  With that alleyway, I can slip down a hedged path, run along the tennis court fence, and squeeze in behind the aviary, and then I’m practically home free.  Now, if I know Nick like I know Nick -- and I know Nick -- he’ll have gotten my message and told Bogo to post a plainclothes cop outside of Knotash, and if I’m especially lucky, it’s one of Captain Kela’s wolves, who know my scent. _   She grinned triumphantly, _ Can I get a ‘boom’? _

The red-furred rabbit furrowed his brow and sighed through his nose again.

_ I don’t hear a ‘boom’. _

“‘Boom’,” he complied, the corners of his lips curling despite his best efforts.

_ …And don’t worry, I’ve already got a place for you in my story: Chief Inspector Dawson.  How’s that sound? _  Judy beamed, hopping in her seat momentarily to divest herself of “the last piece of the puzzle”, and so stand to retrieve the plush white robe hanging nearby.

“That has a nice ring to it,” Dawson mused, “but it sounds like you think I’m going somewhere.”

_ Well, the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ will leave my system eventually, I can’t have had so much that it permanently damaged anything or caused an addiction _ , the gray rabbit reasoned,  _ So… the hallucinations will end at some point… _

“Oh, Judy… I’ll always be right here if ever you need me.  For…  _ any _ reason.”

She moaned her appreciation inwardly, folding both paws over her chest after tying the robe closed,  _ Dawson, that’s so sweet of you to say… you mean for emotional support, right? _

But no response came.

_ You’ll be professional about it, right, Dawson? _

“Ms. Hopps?” came a polite, petite voice from around the dividing wall, “The bath is ready.”

“Oh, thank you!” Judy started, nearly jumping her height but keeping as reserved as possible as she stepped out to the awaiting attendants, each garbed in a simple, yet shimmering beige dress that only reached their knees, but modestly hugged their frame with a floral pattern.  “This seems like an awful lot of fuss for a bath,” Judy considered, “Not that I’m ungrateful, of course, I would love a good soak after today.”

“Ah,” the attendant that looked most in charge said, judging by the authority etched into her eyes and smile, and the marginally fancier outfit she wore, “We here in Knotash handle cleanliness with the utmost respect and attention, especially for so honored a guest of Young Master Grav.”

_ There’s that title again, _  Judy pondered and then awed, “Ooh, this will be something like a day-spa?” she asked, following her own team of pamperers.

“Well, it will not take  _ all _ day, as you still have your dress to be fitted for, Ms. Hopps.”

Judy fretted, “Oh, right, I still need to pick one out, don’t I… I probably should have done that instead of running around the manor, huh…”  _ Guess it can’t be avoided after all.  Maybe I can find something not as… fancy. _

The veritable mistress of the group tittered congenially, “One was already picked out for you by the Young Master himself,” she explained.

_ Goody goody gumdrops, _ but stayed her sarcasm to say, “I’m sure it will be absolutely  _ lovely. _ ”

“It most certainly is,” a younger attendant said with a dreamy sigh, and pulled the curtain around the lot of them to make the bath a private affair, in an otherwise open, and busied, washing area, “Brother Grav chose the prettiest dress in the whole manor.”

“He actually had it commissioned  _ months _ ago based on a historical design to put in his private collection,” a third, bubblier attendant added as she stood behind Judy and helped remove the sandy-white robe, “You are so  _ lucky _ , that dress has been the envy of every girl here,” and she herself seemed to sigh wistfully, “Oh, but to see  _ you _ in it…”

_ Sometimes I wonder if I’m hearing about the same “Grav” _ , she doubted, and paid a bashful smile while sitting upon an indented plastic stool in a small, tiled area, and closed her eyes as the attendants unhooked the showerhead to rinse the sweat and such off her body with a gentle stream of warm water.   _ Ooh… that’s rather nice, isn’t it… _  Judy sighed, laying her head back so that they could get her ears, and then her chest and stomach, momentarily forgetting that she was held captive by a family of sadistic megalomaniacs.  It didn’t take long to remember, however, as she thought back on her reconnaissance of the Hopps Manor…

If a poll were taken of Magnus, Clea, and Grav amongst the late adolescent to the early middle-aged, of which comprised a vast majority of the household, Judy could say with certainty that they would be ranked with solid approval; she figured this before  _ ever _ waking up inside Knotash.  It was the oldest and the youngest, the outliers in their unmitigated honesty -- who were either too innocent to yet understand how things “worked” or aged enough to predate everyone else -- that Judy was interested in, and is why she sought out such a venerable individual as “Nana Caroline”.

Nana Caroline was there when Grav had yet learned to walk or talk, back when he (as Judy confirmed) was still known as “Graham”.  It was over a tray of ginger snaps and ice cold cucumber juice which Nana was taken by Judy’s cordiality and charm, and told all there was to tell about  _ Graham _ (which she did not say  _ too _ loud).  He was the first child of Magnus and Clea and given proper honorifics to reflect it -- as well as the responsibility of following in Magnus’s footsteps -- even though later on they would adopt or simply take in older youth from outside families to join the Hopps household (a common practice in any rabbit society).  Clea’s pregnancy was a happy surprise, so devoted to her work as she was, but as she grew she seemed troubled, and at times caressed her stomach sadly…

_ He _ was born with, as Nana could not fully detail, “complications”, which he clearly lived through, even though his infancy balanced on a razor’s edge, at times.  All was well for some years until one day in the garden, when Graham was playing amongst other toddlers, that he… (at which point in the narrative, Judy had to lean in just to hear the barest whisper from Nana Caroline) he had “pounced a bird and tore it to ribbons, only to let out an unholy wail”.  Judy consoled the old rabbit and apologized for asking her to relive such a thing, but as was Nana Caroline’s manner, dismissed such “worrying over an old biddy”.  Suffice to say, Graham, or who would be known afterward as “Grav”, was not allowed near other baby bunnies, much less his own brothers and sisters.

It seemed to Judy that even beyond his toddling years, through adolescence and well into adulthood, he remained what could be described as… “prickly” as if anyone except Magnus and Clea themselves dared ever get close to him (even though they always deferred to him with the utmost respect).  It was subtle, but as Judy recalled what she could concerning Grav (indeed, all memories she managed to dredge up, such as the group of bunnies with which he accosted them at Gideon’s bakery the day before), along with family photos or other depictions, no or few siblings could be seen  _ touching _ him; at least by any choice of their own.

He could be seen with awards, ornate projects and artwork that he seemed to make himself, and like a buzzer that sounded each time she saw it, Judy recognized a common insignia with varying degrees of detail, depending on whether used in a signature or stylized nameplate: two falling stars with crossed tails.  It marked the identical times of their births and followed Judy’s childhood over birthday cakes and whatnot,  _ But I make my own significance, however beautiful a coinciding natural phenomenon might be, _ she had long since decided.

What was most disturbing about the scattered photos or rare depictions of Grav Hopps was his smile.  He had a very nice smile, quite handsome, but Judy was struck with the strangest sense of déjà vu that only progressed -- perhaps worsened -- each time she saw it.  It was likened perhaps not to a smile “painted”, or even a porcelain doll, and not until leaving the artifact room and saw his portrait did it finally come upon her like a wave: his was a smile that reminded her of an old horror movie called “The Taxidermist”, about a serial killer who transgressed from stuffing birds and reptiles to  _ mammals _ , wherein each victim was stitched with a perfect smile.

Judy stood from her showering stool with the faintest chill, finished as her attendants were with a thorough lathering and scrub, followed by another meticulous rinsing.  As a final touch, her damp ears were wrapped up in a dry, heated towel so that she could relax them without the uncomfortable dripping down her bare back (there was the option to use an “ear brace”, designed for an identical purpose, but being a humble farm-bunny and because those things itched her, Judy opted for the towel).  The porcelain tub was filled with such an aroma and warmth, that it caused her to giggle at the idea that she might very well be stepping into a perfectly steeped cup of tea.  The water was clear, however, save for a faint cloudiness from the salts and oils used for it, and with her legs outstretched and head laid back, so soaked with her toweled-ears lying along an extended headrest (a common feature of rabbit bathrooms varying in style and design depending on location).  Though deep in enemy territory, Judy needed the time to bolster herself -- mind, body, and spirit -- for the looming battle.

_ Grav’s arrogance is his weak point _ , she considered,  _ He’s not stupid enough to underestimate me, though.  The dress, the dinner… even gave me full run of the manor… he knows I won’t do anything that would make anyone question my integrity, but by golly, with all the rope he gave me I became the darling of this household in a day. _   Judy allowed herself a contented smile, even though she wanted more than anything to grin wide and sly,  _ I’ve got this place inside-and-out… least enough to make my get-away.  I’ve even got you figured out, Grav, everything I need to give you the slip at the opportune moment.  You want “four minutes”?  I’ll give you four minutes of unconsciousness, plenty of time to ditch whatever dress you’ll have me in and hop out the window to freedom.  Think I won’t run across an open field in my skivvies, huh?  Clearly, you’ve never been through the ZPD academy. I’ll be back in Bunnyburrow before midnight, just you wait and see. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fun little pun (this is Zootopia, after all) "Bluefang", for all your wireless needs.
> 
> Tune in next time for the fated confrontation.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the thrilling climax of Brave, my hearty readers, so buck up and buckle in because it's going to be a bumpy ride.

The claims of swooning and envy over Judy’s dress were not exaggerated by her bathhouse attendants, indeed, after minuscule adjustments were made for the gown to fit the curves of her physique like a glove, Judy was amazed at her own reflection.  The fur of her face, neck, and upper chest was already made-up with so fine a powder, it looked as though she were covered in silver bristles rather than a cloudy gray pelt; likewise, the rich, deep gloss upon her lips, shadow upon her eyelids, and the perky perfume of fresh wildflowers did all the more to accentuate a natural, more feminine beauty than “Jude the Dude” was used to (even if she  _ was  _ often the subject of her sisters’ makeup sessions in the past, and as it always happened, managed to get  _ something _ in her mouth).  Standing before the mirror of her room, regaled in a lily-white dress with lavender accents and a silvery lace that looked like a ballgown revisioned in the modern era, Judy and her entourage were quiet for a full minute as they gazed.

“Like moonlight housed in a faerie’s lantern,” awed the rabbit who fitted her dress as he went on to say, “Only one  _ final  _ thing, Ms. Hopps… but, if I may request that you… close your eyes, first, hmm?”

“Oh,” Judy replied, a soft tone as she looked over her bare shoulder, for the dress was low-cut upon her chest with a downy sash that looped around each arm, and smiled as she turned forward again with erected ears, eyes closed, “Of course, yes.”  As expected, the weight of jewelry lay upon her bosom and the dainty sound of a clasp behind her neck, but as she opened her giddy eyes once more, Judy was thunderstruck, petrified as she recognized the opals adorning her. “‘Tears for a Sunset’,” she squeaked, too terrified to even touch them, “I… I can’t _ wear  _ these, they belong in a museum, not on my  _ neck _ !”

“The Young Master insists,” the dress-maker insisted, excitement barely restrained, “and it will only be for the meal.  He wanted to see  _ you _ in them.”

A horrid lead weight dropped into Judy’s stomach as she realized the significance of the carcanet she wore, and the nearly identical colorations she had to her great-great-aunt, Laverne Hopps.   _ What are you playing at, Grav? _ she suspected, but maintained composure and inclined her head, even allowing the faintest touch of her fingertips to brush a single opal, “Then I shall do my host and ancestor the honor of wearing these treasured gems,” she said and earned for her performance a round of crooning admiration.   _ I can work with this _ , Judy then decided and followed Hilde (still in her stark black suit) out into the hall,  _ I’ll just need to be… a bit more careful escaping is all.  Taking an extra few seconds to remove this before jumping out the window is certainly doable. _

 

* * *

What awaited outside the dormitories was one of the electric carts done up to resemble an old-timey carriage. _   He certainly likes his performance pieces… _ Judy sighed but accepted assistance up into the seat by the driver before he sat behind the rectangular steering wheel (Hilde climbed in on her own).  The ride was silent (even the engine was barely audible) as Judy looked about at the golden baked grounds, feeling a bit odd that she was being driven around dressed to the nines as she was, even if the grounds were mostly vacant.   _ It looks like Knotash isn’t too different from Bunnyburrow after all _ , Judy noticed, and looked up into the “sky” at the mid-to-late afternoon “sun”, telling the time of day for all little bunnies to head inside.

Knotash, unlike the other two of the Tri-Burrows, was mostly underground and beneath a grand, artificial tree (with a storied past all its own) that acted as a collector of solar energy to power every home it contained; its branches housed the close-knit squirrel community which maintained it, and the close-knit rabbit community inside its root system maintained a water pump from a deep, natural spring.  From a distance, the enormous tree was indistinguishable from the surrounding  _ real _ forest in which it resided, and any emissions (from Hexward or the Hopps Processing Plant, for example) were safely dispersed; in effect, Knotash was a self-contained microcosm within Zootopia (a not wholly uncommon occurrence, similar to Little Rodentia, and permitted so long as the city’s laws were upheld, and the ZPD kept in the loop with the local Watch).  The underside of the roots acted as a dispenser of sunlight to the rabbits living beneath, mimicking the sky to the nanosecond, and as it was for both farm- and city-bunnies alike, as well as most small prey species, late afternoon was akin to evening.

The dining hall was perhaps one of the largest buildings on the Hopps estate, easily its very heart.  The main hall was divided by folding walls that allowed for shifts of rabbits to eat while adjacent areas were cleaned, and for special occasions, opened up in totality.  The room prepared for Grav and Judy was not part of the main hall but a smaller, private section set away and overlooking the gardens (and as was custom for rabbit houses of the upper class, only a single story housed the outer-edge rooms and higher stories kept towards the center of the building; any further stories were kept underground).  Judy was escorted past marble columns and sleek tiled floors, leafy potted plants and ivy-adorned statues in a tasteful rustic endeavor, to what she soon came to identify as one of the more…  _ private _ wings of the estate.   _ The Sigil of the House of Blessings… _ she observed, looking up at a cross-cut square emblem overlaid with the silhouette of two blackbirds, whose combined four wings spread into a plumed ‘X’, a pair of legs facing to the right and the head facing to the left,  _ ‘Moving forward, looking back’… and these ones are so detailed, they almost look real… _

Seeing two crows on a windowsill was among the strongest omens in the Hexward Tenets, for the birds themselves were often depicted as couriers for the departed.  One meant it came for someone in the household, but a  _ second  _ meant that whoever was deemed ready to pass on would, at least, not have to make the journey alone (and if the birds arrived in error because no one died that day, all the better).   _ Ravens _ , in contrast, were allied with wolves and not given such reverence, because their presence meant a terrible, gruesome death (or were themselves tricksters, and foul fortune was afoot…).

Immediately outside the expecting dining room was the square-jawed guard who, like Hilde, stood at stoic attention in his black suit, and was, in fact, the same guard Judy saw tailing her host earlier that day.  “Ms. Hopps,” he greeted, and though his voice was like stone, his eyes betrayed his awe. He opened the door and stepped aside as Judy curtseyed, and then walked in. Perhaps it was how she prepared herself for what was to come, or what she anticipated from a day’s worth of precedence, but the two suited rabbits seemed to bid a final farewell as the doors closed behind her.

_ Once more into the brink… _ she determined.

What Judy first noticed was that the room was fairly large though not very high, the ceiling a gentle dome with a single, brilliant lamp at the very center with sconces around the rim.  One arch of the circular room was the balcony affording her escape, perhaps wide enough for less than a half-dozen bunnies to stand shoulder-to-shoulder across and walk through without discomfort.  In the center, beneath that bright but soft lamp, sat a single long table, its cloth off-white and boasting bright, pearlescent dishes with shiny silverware, a low centerpiece of red, pink, and yellow carnations with baby’s breath, flanked by ornate candlesticks and tall wax pillars crowned in flickering amber.

_ ‘Little moth, little moth’ _ , Judy cautioned herself, staring hard at her host seated in the facing spot, framed by the dancing blaze reflecting off candlesticks and carnations.

Grav rose at her approach, the slide of his chair muted by one of Schubat’s many musical pieces played from an iPaw sound system stationed nearby.  He smiled. That same… “stitched” smile testing Judy’s iron will and the more she thought about it, the easier it was to imagine his face was little more than a cruel mockery, behind which roiled an unbridled enmity.  “Judy,” he cooed, strolling around the long edge of the table, a harshly sharp piece of furniture in a decor of otherwise round embrace, until he came to stop at her chair, “You look  _ exquisite _ .”  The crisp, pitch-black tuxedo was an outfit to boast, inside of which a severe white shirt emphasized a blood-red vest and bowtie, his jacket sporting long tails in the back and pointed lapels in the front, with a boutonniere made from scarlet and violet foxglove flowers.

She stood tall, polite, and strong.   _ Alright, Uncle Terry, time to put your lessons through their paces, _ Judy thought, for though she had been in Grav’s company many times before, never had they been  _ alone _ before that day.  And indeed, even with he who shared the time of her birth down to the second standing not a few feet away, Judy felt “alone” in that room.  His voice echoed in her head with the same gravitational declaration she finally distinguished only that morning:  **I’m here.**   “And  _ you _ look quite dapper,” Judy commented.  Her eyebrows arched, spotting a corsage with a flower arrangement matching his own sitting on the table.

It was lifted without missing a beat, removed from its clear plastic box, and presented, “If I may?” he offered, dark eyes flicking to her wrist.

A stiff, resolute left paw was presented, and so adorned.   _ Maybe he never went to prom or something… _ Judy reasoned, smiling in appreciation to her host as he then pulled out the chair for her.  “Thank you,” she accepted and then tucked the dress in behind her knees as the chair was slid carefully under her.  With Grav’s back turned, Judy allowed herself a fretful frown,  _ Ugh, it’s like I’m dating a spider…  _ but a polite smile perked anew as her host took his own seat.

“Well,” he said, “this is delightful, but I don’t care for waiting in a restaurant if I can help it, so let’s get some salads and order our meals, and then we’ll engage in some civil conversation.”  He lifted a small bell for a few  _ ‘dings’ _ to immediately open the door at the far end of the room, thus conjuring three sharply-dressed waiters: one with a pitcher of cold water and a bottle in an ice bucket, another with two menus, and the third carrying two covered plates.  They glided in single-file across the floor, and though proper and neat, looked cordial.

Both sitting rabbits had a glass filled, its coolness confirmed by the sheen of condensation formed where it was poured, and similarly, both received a plate of fresh, leafy salads with cucumbers, croutons, sliced carrots, wedges of tomatoes and sprinkled with a light oil; even in its chaotic spread, the salad itself looked artistically arranged.  A menu was handed to Judy, but not Grav since he promptly said, “I’ll have the usual.”

_ Alright, Nick, time to put your… ‘lessons’ to use, too, _ Judy thought as she smiled to politely decline the menu, “I’ll have what  _ he’s _ having.”

A soft clatter jarred from the waiters, stopped dead where they stood as they, and Grav as well, directed their undivided attention to Judy; the only definitive proof that time passed was the flickering candle and classical music.  “If I may suggest something from the menu, Ms. Hopps…?” the waiter asked as he kept the item in question half-extended.

_ …Welp, I should not have done that,  _ but Judy continued her sturdy smile, “I insist.”

“The lady insists,” Grav affirmed to the worrying waiter, that smile of his no less sharp, and then turned to the ice bucket with a glass bottle inside in polite declination, as well, “I will need my wits about me tonight, I think,” he said.  With water glasses filled and salads peppered accordingly, the waiters filed back out.

_ Shoot, he’s onto me, _ she inwardly huffed,  _ Nick makes his whole… ‘I totally meant to do that’ thing look way too easy…   _ Judy began to eat her appetizer after laying a napkin across her lap and taking up the salad fork, “Now then,” she said, “We have quite a  _ few _ conversations to tend to, as I recall.  Where shall we begin?”

The lettuce crunched between his teeth, and in proper tabletop etiquette, did not answer until his mouth was cleared, “Far be it for a gentlemammal to choose for a guest  _ and  _ lady,” he answered, “After you, Judy.”

She hummed and tapped her chin with the end of the fork, “Let us continue our chat on the  _ boogierabbit _ ’,” Judy decided, “You  _ did _ say you were more comfortable talking about it at the dinner table.”

“So I  _ did _ ,” he agreed, “He is quite the storied individual.  Curiously, the first recorded telling isn’t until some hundreds of years  _ after _ he’s purported to have shown up,” Grav petered off.

“Oh, that’s not  _ so _ suspicious,” Judy dismissed, “‘Unlucky Hect’ is, more likely than not, an allegorical character designed by or even  _ based _ off Mr.  _ Hector _ Howard himself, as something of a… an  _ amalgamation _ of the horrors he witnessed,” she explained professorially, and steeled herself against some of the choice entries she recalled to point out, “Over time, he likely became his own legend and was fit into historical epochs accordingly.”  Her fork clinked against the bottom of the salad bowl with decisiveness as she brought up another helping of its greenery.

“‘That which you gaze upon, you become’, or something like that,” Grav said, “What did you do with that journal, by the way?  Normally when I leave it lying about, my siblings are more than apt to return it.”

_ So you  _ do _ want to be seen with it, _ Judy accused, “It’s still in my room, left out in the open and might I say, it got more than a few sidelong glances.”  She sat upright with a much more proper tone, to say, “Which actually brings me to what you said this morning about ‘watching over’ me.  What did you mean by that,  _ exactly _ ?”

Grav dragged the fork languidly through residual dressing as he shifted in his seat to rest a cheek in his palm and watch one of the candles’ flame, it flickering off the dark glint of his eyes, “Some of my brothers thought they’d ‘pay you a visit’ before you had a chance to wake up, which I really couldn’t permit.  Forgive them their youthful transgressions, they just need to be…  _ taught _ .”

_ I was planning to escape after dessert, but I can’t stay that long, _ Judy dreaded, staring between the candles as the wax cylinder’s rendition of “Little Moth” ran through her head.  “You  _ protected _ me, then,” she managed with reforming composure.

“Hmm?” he grunted, thought on it, and then chuckled, “Well, I suppose I  _ did _ .  ‘What a miserable world it is that  _ I _ am called to shoulder the mantle of mercy’, and all that,” he quoted.

Judy paused a full beat.  “‘Sword of justice’, you mean.”

“Yes, of course.”

Her throat tightened, “And as they say, ‘boys will be boys’,” she forced out,  _ But if they were any brother of mine, they’d get a bit more than an evil eye if they tried anything like that…  _  “And since  _ that  _ was the final entry in his journal, do you happen to know what Hector meant by it?  I can only surmise he went out to exact revenge on the fox who attacked Lovey.”

“You say it so factually, it’s almost ironic,” he mused, and then flicked his ears, “The entrées are quite ready, though, so we should pause this delightful talk of ours…”

Her own ears swiveled, only to make a determination.   _ I don’t hear anything… _ and then remembered something from the night prior, about how Grav timed the microwave precisely from his holding cell,  _ He must have an acute internal clock, so he might know exactly how long it takes to make his ‘usual’. _

In glided those same three waiters, stiff and cordial in their demeanor as the first brought in two covered dishes, the second a single platter, and the third brought in another bucket before gathering up the salad bowls.  Before each of them was a covered plate set, and simultaneously their meals revealed.

_ Oh, biscuits… _ Judy thought, jaw clenching as what her nose warned her of turned out to be true: “the usual” Grav ordered turned out to be a serving of roasted chicken breast in some sort of sauce and garnish.  The sauce itself proved irrelevant to Judy as the smell of cooked meat nearly threw her backward in nausea.  _ Keep it together, Jude… _ she urged, knowing that if it weren’t for the makeup the paleness of her face would likely be visible through her fur.  Purple eyes darted up to her host, but he was not leering at her as she assumed he would… rather, he’d already tied a napkin to his front and was cutting a slice of the chicken.  Even amongst the ambient classical music, Judy’s keen ears could hear the wretched squelch of an herbivore’s grinding teeth press into flesh with efforted mastication. The waiters were, to her counted blessings, as uncomfortable as she was.

“You know,” Grav said after he finished his first bite, “You don’t ever  _ really _ get used to it, but go on, dig in,” and gestured with his knife, before cutting another slice.

Her own knife gleamed off to the right, and a tremor wracked her spine.   _ Keep.  It. Together, _ she urged, inhaling a slow breath to pick up the blade’s handle, and with her left, the fork, to steady the slab of bird meat and cut off a corner.  As the flesh-laden utensil rose from the plate, Judy could feel the eyes of the waiters upon her, no doubt their own reserve of steel tested as harshly as her own.  The scent of carnivorism inched nearer and nearer to her nose until it was all she could do to keep her mouth open and force the fork nearer still. Every bunny-thought in her head begged, screamed, and pleaded to stop.  To end this  _ madness _ .  To repel and revile at being this… this  _ thing _ that was  _ not  _ her…

“Hold up,” Grav ordered, like an icy wind blowing away smoke, and gestured to the waiter holding the platter.

Judy dropped the fork to its plate as both arms fell to her sides, heaving as one waiter nearly threw the cover over the roasted chicken as though it were radioactive, and pulled it away just as quickly.  In its place was the platter, and from it a much nicer smell. Regaining her composure as surely as she could, Judy tucked one paw under the tablecloth to carefully hide the knife she managed to swipe, secreting it into the pouch formed by the dress between her knees, and beneath the cover of her napkin.  The waiters were, to the relief of all involved, dismissed.

“You were actually going to eat it,” he stated matter-of-factly and drank a few swigs of water.

“ _ Well _ , it would be rude not to at least  _ try _ what I ordered,” she managed.   _ We’re going into the endgame, Grav.  Those waiters don’t want to come back in here, not while you’re choking down that chicken for whatever demented reason you gave yourself, and I bet you won’t stop until it’s all gone, so I have plenty of time to figure out how to subdue you, _ she thought, watching how he would tug on the collar of his shirt, “But now that we  _ are  _ eating again-”

“ _ I’m _ eating,” he corrected and forced down another bite.

With an unamused deadpan, Judy lifted the lid’s handle away unceremoniously, her ears up and stomach growling as she immediately recognized the meal: her mother’s three-bean casserole with a side of buttered mashed potatoes.  The smell was heavenly and washed through Judy’s nose, head, even her heart and perhaps her very  _ soul _ like a soothing whisper, and while it was not her favorite dish, it was a welcome reprieve all the same.  A glimpse was spared at the rabbit across the table, but he was busied with his own meal and looked quite intent to do so.   _ He wanted to tell me something with this or mock me, I’m sure of it, but couldn’t be bothered to see my reaction? _ Judy pondered, setting the cover upon the table to pick up a spoon and have herself a taste.   _ This is… almost exactly like Mom’s cooking…  _ and slowed her chewing as she tasted the “secret” zucchini-and-carrot sauce that, so far as Judy knew, only Bonnie Hopps knew how to make, but more importantly, was the same recipe that she gave her, Nick, and Gideon the night before.

_ This is definitely Mom’s cooking, there’s no mistaking it, so she must have sent some home with Uncle Magnus and Aunt Clea before they left the house…  _  Her chewing slowed, as though working her way through molasses,  _ It would have been in the same plasticware she always used… the same that we hid the drugged whipped cream in…  I really hope I’m wrong on this, but could it be his way of saying that we didn’t stop the drug test today…? _ she dreaded and gulped audibly,  _ I need to get in touch with Nick ASAP. _

“That was actually on the menu you were handed, you know,” Grav informed to snap her from her rumination.

“Yes, I’m sure your chefs did a  _ bang-up _ job nuking this for me,” she kindly scathed and then noticed out of the corner of her eye the rim of a bucket sitting near Grav.   _ One of the waiters brought that in, but I figured it was another bottle of cider…  _ and as she ate, watched how every bite from her host was marginally more difficult,  _ Oh my gosh, it must take every ounce of willpower just to eat that… I mean, I can’t for the life of me figure out  _ why _ , except as some sort power play, especially since he seems to eat it on a regular basis, but the bucket must be there to catch anything that comes back up… eww…  It also means that I just need to break his concentration at the right moment, he’ll be… distracted, and I can dash for the balcony. _

“Now then, the aforementioned ‘sword of justice’,” he reminded after another sip of water, “Hector did, indeed, seek revenge and it was…  Well, let’s just say that the boogierabbit is perhaps the darkest, most evil tale we, as bunnies, have in our storybooks, and as to be expected, is a cautionary one that warns against carnivorism,” and so inserted another slice of chicken into his mouth.

_ That can’t be the whole thing.  Just what else are you hiding, Grav?   _ “He said while  _ engaging _ in said act…”

“Bag-o’-Bones,” he ignored, “the sharp-tooth, skeletal bunny missing one foot and half-an-ear, dragging around a meathook and a bone saw…  a  _ cursed _ rabbit if ever there was one.”

Judy’s next bite hovered between her teeth, and slowly sat upright to set the fork down, brow furrowing and jaw clenching as the utensil clattered.  “Of course…” she muttered,  _ Another reason for his tale was to caution young bunnies against those that are ‘cursed’ because it was believed to invoke predatory hunger, but... _ “I’ll bet that’s why you hit Bo with your car yesterday: you’re  _ envious _ .”

Grav grunted, and brought a napkin up to his mouth to deposit his current bite of chicken into it, and then snarled at his guest… faintly, though, as he also tried to leer, “Of  _ him _ ?  Over  _ you _ , I suppose.  Your fame has gone to your head, Judy-”

“That’s  _ jealousy _ ,” she coolly rebutted, “I speak of  _ envy _ , a very special kind of hatred harbored for possession or status of another, as opposed to affections of a third party,” she began in scholarly vigor, even though as she continued she could not deny the mounting pity she felt, “Correct me should I err, Grav Hopps, but it’s why you identify with the carnivorous and ‘cursed’ Bag-o’-Bones, and why you eat chicken on a regular basis.  You have  _ muscular hyperatrophy _ just like Bo, except unlike managing it with exercise, a healthy diet, and vitamins,  _ you _ force poultry down your throat…”

Quiet answered immediately and vehemently, but only at first.  “And I hardly had to spell it out for you,” he said coldly, “Ah well, now you know, and  _ yet _ it changes absolutely  _ nothing. _ ”

Her stare did not soften, “But to see him walking around, healthy and happy, must tear you up inside.”

The dark eyes glared across the table as his utensils were set down.  “I’m  _ sure  _ jolly Bo Briar has his fair share of doubters, amongst his throngs of hugging,  _ snuggling _ admirers,” he began, each word gaining vitriol as he spoke, “Even in our schoolyard days when  _ I _ was hardly distinguishable from the other bunnies, he had the decrepit body to earn his name ‘Bo Branches’, but  _ shucks _ , if he didn’t grow out of that…”   He then slumped into his chair, “But he eats his greens and does his squats and  _ there we are _ , built like a truck.  It  _ hardly _ seems fair, does it?  He gets a way out of this  _ ‘curse’ _ and only needs to live with the stigma, while  _ I _ suffer  _ this _ every day,” he scowled and gestured at the meat with disgust.

“But rabbits aren’t  _ meant _ to eat-!” Judy rebuked.

“As if  _ I _ didn’t know!” he bellowed, chair scraping across the floor behind him as he rocketed to his feet, jostling the table beneath his slamming paws.  Grav’s nose wiggled in the resonating silence broken only by the omnipresent Schubat composition, and then he reached back to return his chair beneath him.  After smoothing out the undisturbed fur atop his head, Grav picked up his utensils again to say, “Apologies, Judy, that was uncouth of me.”

Likewise, Judy repositioned her own marginally askew chair to support her as she sat.  Quick ears swiveled, catching any sound of panic or hurried help, but there was none, only the uninterrupted music.  Hearing the cutting of another slice of chicken, Judy made to acquire another bite of casserole. _To know two rabbits with that same disorder, though,_ she pondered, _Though genetic, it still varies in degrees, depending on the individual… Bunnyburrow and Hares’ Bluff have their own views on it and considering Felix Lapis devoted himself to medicine to find a cure, I can’t help but wonder if Knotash has a more… accepting viewpoint, too._   Her ears, already up, stiffened as she watched her host ingest and masticate, noting the strained movement of his throat, _A rare, genetic disorder… I’d bet you two are somehow related, even though Bo’s from Podunk in Deersbrooke_ , she thought, and then said, “You called him a ‘half-hare’ yesterday,” but was only answered by a pausing half-shrug. _I’d also bet you’re hiding something else about him, and if so, I’ve got to time this just right…_ she postulated before rocketing to her own feet with the scrape of a chair behind her to loudly, quickly, and matter-of-factly accuse, “You know who Bo’s parents are!”

Grav’s eyes bulged as he gagged, clapping a paw over his mouth as he dove from his seat to the bucket on the floor, and almost immediately certain, telltale sounds commenced.

The half-cocked ruse proved fruitful, so Judy threw her chair to the side with one paw and clutched the knife with the other to hide it still, breaking into a sprint towards the balcony, but in her well-laid plans, she had not fully considered all she was attired in.  The dress, beautiful and ornate, was not meant for running, not when she was also trying to maintain a secreted grip on a weapon. Her toe caught the billowing folds in the front and halted her precious seconds as she was then faced with two life-or-death options in a forward lurch: roll and recover but drop the knife, or land against the floor to prepare for a fight.  In an instant, her ears stung with instinctual danger to opt for the latter choice as a familiar, gut-wrenching yell bellowed behind her. She braced her fall onto a shoulder and then her back, only just dodging the dining table that slid across the floor in a scream to then collide with the columns on either side of the balcony with a tumultuous clatter. From behind a raised arm (the other keeping the blade out of view), Judy gawked as Grav strode over to the disheveled table; what struck her most about the current situation was that from her vantage point, she could recognize a revolver tucked into the back of his pants.   _ Oh, biscuits… _ she repeated.

Grav picked up a knocked-over glass that, due to its bulbous shape, still had water inside.  A napkin cleaned his face and a swig his mouth and flinging the glass to the floor broke through the hanging minute with a fierce shattering.  “Did you think escape was that easy?” he demanded, trembling still and putting a paw over his mouth to swallow a gag, disrupting the dark enmity in his eyes for a single instant before he reached up to loosen his bowtie and tear open the top button for deep, furious heaving.

“Stay back!” she warned as he stepped closer.

“Just jump out the window, scamper off into the night?   _ Hmm _ ?” he grunted, “Duck under the garden wall, or maybe slip around the pool house?” Grav continued, advancing still, “Maybe you could escape out the garage, or behind the aviary, or through a gap in the hedge maze?”

Judy’s purple eyes stared up at him, darting down and away in realization,  _ I… I thought about those routes, but they didn’t seem feasible from this starting point… and I didn’t even know there was one around the pool house… _   Her fingers tightened around the knife’s handle.

“I’m sure you learned a lot from my siblings today, Little Moth, but who do you think  _ taught _ them how to flee this gilded cage?” he posited, and loomed, “Who do you think closed those escape routes forever, for the one chance to get  _ you _ here, now?”  Grav looked up and about, ears swiveling and jaw clenching in muted disapproval.

_ Just a little closer… _ Judy calculated, glancing at his right paw for any indication that he made to reach for his revolver.  “Is that why you threw a  _ table  _ at me?”

His dark gaze snapped to her, “You left me with little choice; couldn’t have you running about… I’m sure with all your sleuthing, you know that  _ I _ am the  _ only  _ way out of here…”

“Oh, I  _ heard _ ,” she retorted, “A hushed rumor that whoever follows  _ you _ is never seen again.”

“Irrefutably,” Grav confirmed, his snarl softened, “So, I suggest you make it  _ easy _ on yourself.”

_ Bad, bad, bad… _ “You  _ protected  _ me this morning, though…” she reasoned, slowly scooting back as he stepped nearer, gaining concern as a wave of fear suddenly washed over her, but forcing herself to focus.

“Yes, Judy, and I still  _ can _ ,” he assured, that stitched smile returning with a vengeance, “I will protect you  _ forever. _   We’ll be together, just you and me, our crossed stars-”

“Grav, no!”

“There’s nothing else tying you here, the same as I,” he argued, but the smile wavered as he eyed her awkwardness in the gaps of her battle readiness, “Right?”

“Umm…”

“You left nothing and nobody behind, right?” Grav doubted, “That’s why I let you call Bo earlier.   _ Right _ ?”

“ _ Well _ …”

Grav contorted where he stood, tugging at his ears and biting back a brutal howl.

Judy grabbed at the momentary distraction to press any advantage she could and sprung up… or tried to as she only managed to flail closer to the table.   _ Curse this dress! _

He was on her in an instant, straddling her waist with a fierce grip pinning her throat to the floor and slowly squeezing, “Saint Judy…  _ lied _ ,” he growled, the darkness in his eyes all the deeper as he squeezed until her knife fell with stilling clatter.  “Well now… what’s  _ this _ ?” he asked, staring at the bladed implement, and then reaching over to pick it up, “Such an  _ odd _ thing to have tucked away…  Why this must be your ‘sword of justice’, but I'm curious: after you kill me, what is it you plan on doing next?”

Again and again, she “heard” him, that furious scratching which seemed to say “ **I’m here** ”  _ ad nauseam _ , only realizing too late that his “emptiness” she convinced herself of was no more than a comforting lie…  “Not  _ kill _ ,” she choked out, “I’m not like  _ you _ ,” and felt torrents of fear and anger but bolstered herself against it all, even when every attempt she made to curl a fist or buck him off was met with the restriction of her windpipe; like a pit of quicksand, her struggling only strengthened him.

His face twisted into a jagged scowl, riling as the fur bristled from his neck up to his ear tips, “Like… a  _ monster _ , you mean.”

Judy stared up at the bared teeth, bracing her paws around his wrist to gulp what breath she could, her mind running a mile-a-minute.   _ That scream, this face… it’s the same as last night, but… _

Grav’s nostrils flared as his face seemed to split between sadistic glee and rage, “A bloodthirsty fiend in mortal guise.”

_ Even with everything Nick jabbed, he didn’t react like this until… _ she thought, and looked higher still until she caught the raised cheeks right below his eyes flanking a scrunched nose,  _ Not until Gideon mentioned the bunny that pounced a bird… _

“The  _ boogierabbit _ that stalks these accursed halls.  Hide the youngin’s, or else I might  _ eat _ them!” he barked, and held out the knife gleaming in the sconce light.

Higher still her gaze rose until she at last locked eyes with Grav.   _ I felt an overwhelming fear  _ then _ , too, but I thought it was from Nick or Gid, and I’m feeling it  _ now _ … but… _

 “ _ Yes _ … you spent all day looking for me, Little Moth, well  _ here  _ I am.”

_ Weird… _ she wondered, the glint of the knife in her peripheral vision, which in a split second could end her, but another thought occurred to her,  _ I don’t think I’ve ever actually…  _ looked _ into his eyes before, only ever avoided them… for good reason, I suppose… _

“But as brave and loved as you are, accept that it is  _ I _ , the monster you sought to slay, who ushers you into the great beyond, and will watch over you ever after,” he growled and raised the blade to its vorpal apex.

_ I’ve spoken with a murderer once before and felt their cold eagerness, _ and trembled at the memory _ , but that’s not this _ , she realized, and instead felt neither relief nor confusion but some perplexing combination of the two, so she watched as he kept that knife high overhead… and waited.

Grav heaved through his teeth in a grimace, “With only  _ one _ thrust…”

Judy grew calmer, just like Uncle Terry taught her when dealing with an onslaught of emotion, and as Nick taught her, followed the flow of the situation, “Yeah, that’s all it would take.”   _ Only a little bit of physical pressure…  I could have done it myself at my lowest point, _ she rued as a mist gathered at the corners of her eyes,  _ His voice, though… it still sounds like scratching, but… almost like someone’s trapped outside, in the dark… or inside a coffin… _

His arm slacked at the elbow with a barely audible grunt, before he raised it up again, “And it would be, a… a  _ glorious _ fountain of… of  _ crimson _ …”

“Probably,” she agreed, and hardly blinked as she kept her eyes on his, and likewise, he hardly seemed able to avert his gaze.   _ His eyes really are dark… it’s hard to tell in this light, but they’re kinda purplish… A sort of dark, royal purple, I guess… I wonder if anyone’s told him that? _

The knife wavered, and was instead held at shoulder level if still pointed at her heart, and then his brow furrowed as he grunted in frustration and confusion.  “I… I’m a  _ monster _ ,” he reminded her, and measured the knife against her chest, “And I… I  _ can  _ end you…”

“Maybe…”

He slowly turned the knife away, paw relaxing off her throat the slightest bit, “It… it should be so  _ simple _ ,” he dreaded, the tool bobbing directly below their vision, “less than a pound of pressure would do it…”

Judy inclined the faintest angle by bracing the floor, her throat pushing against his palm and it was his palm which gave way, along with the knife-clutching fist.  “It’s not easy to take a life, is it Grav?” she hushed, remembering one of her favorite lessons of the Hexward Tenets (for some… _obvious_ symbolic reasons).  It was about a humble villager that stayed a mountainous demon by showing a mirror made of pure silver, for it reflected what was _“evil’s greatest fear: that there was still some good in them worth saving”_.  A downy paw rose up from the knuckles wrapped around her neck to the knuckles wrapped around the blade’s handle and drew it free to toss it aside.  In measured degrees, Judy slid out from under him, never once breaking line of sight, and neither it seemed, could _he_.

Grav sat back on his heels as he continued to stare, jaw slacked and heaving all the same, paws weakly clutching the air as he pulled them closer.  “Why… why can’t I kill you…?” he begged in stunned revelation, for without the adrenaline, without the fight, all that remained was who he truly was: a damaged, wretched child hiding behind bluster and a smile.

Despite her dress, the twisted carcanet, the wrecked corsage, Judy sat regally upon her knees and leaned in, to which he recoiled, but she reached out to draw him nearer until their chests touched.  “Maybe it’s because you’re not a monster,” she whispered, and continued to say as she felt his weight slump forward, “It’s okay… I’m here.” Slowly, Judy slipped a paw into his coat and pulled the gun out from where he tucked it,  _ Phew… I didn’t think that’d work twice in as many days… _ she sighed with inward relief, and then rubbed his back as he quaked,  _ And just like Nick taught me: stay cool and act like you’re in charge, it’ll help diffuse a situation and lets you offer a solution that better suits you, and then you can make that one easy for them. _

Carefully, she sat him back onto his ankles once more and she on her own, and without even trying to hide it (for she sincerely doubted Grav would try stopping her), Judy opened the revolver and dumped out its two bullets.   _ …Six chambers…  _ she counted, checked it, and then her palm, and then the firearm again, and recounted the ammo, back and forth until dumbly saying, “Two bullets…”

“You must hate me all the more, now,” he muttered and slid onto his haunches with his knees up, forehead held to them with both arms draping alongside his ears in exhaustion and lethargy, “I thought I was strong enough to save you but it was only an empty promise…”

“Grav…?”

“If I’m not a  _ monster _ …” he neglected.

“Grav.”

“…Then what  _ am _ I?”

“ _ Graham _ ,” she instead tried with as much strained courage as she could muster.

Immediately, his eyes flung to up to see her as if for the first time, and he lightly rubbed his scalp while glancing down in thought, “Your fox called me that, didn’t he…”  She held out the clinking pair in her palm with insistence, to which he stared forlornly. “You’re in danger, Judy,” he said unironically, “but I couldn’t let them have you, knowing what they would do to you…”

“Who’s ‘they’?” she pressed, “What would ‘they’ do?”

He was quiet and curled up a bit.

“Please… Graham, tell me.  Why am I in danger?”  _ Specifically, I mean. _   When he remained unresponsive, Judy moved around to sit adjacent, an arm grabbing his shoulder to ease his trembling,  _ Okay, just like how I learned to help the distraught, but without the benefit of time to let them figure it out on their own _ .  “You’re not a monster,” she reiterated, breathed, and leaned on him a bit, much to his surprise, “And I’m not a… hero.”  His head turned as he peeked an eye out at her, “We’re just… scared, cute little bunny rabbits in a big, broken world, trying to make sense of it all… trying to make it a better place the only way we know how.”

His arms folded and he looked away, head resting against them with a leaden sigh, “I cannot,” he stated plainly, “What use is there for a monster that cannot kill; what hope is there for a bunny that cannot love.”

“Don’t say that,” Judy admonished as kindly as she could, “You have friends and family, brothers and sisters-”

“Each and every one of them fear me more than they could love me,” he interrupted, “Every touch met with revulsion… they hear me speak and cower…  It… it’s  _ painful _ , being surrounded yet isolated.”

Judy was dumbstruck, “Have you  _ never _ had a friend?” she found herself asking, and as his ears stiffened back and eyes stared into nothing, her heart suddenly filled with pity, “You  _ lost _ a friend…”

He spoke so low it was barely audible, “His name was ‘Cheepy’.”

_ ‘Cheepy’…?  What was that, a nickname?  It sounds like something you’d give to a… _   Judy’s pity-filled heart could no longer sustain its own weight and dropped into her stomach,  _ You flipped when Gideon mentioned that bunny who pounced a bird…  _ “What happened to Cheepy?” she dared to ask.

Several beats passed before Grav unclenched his toes and at last confessed, “I ate him.  He was tied to my wrist and would land on my finger to sing… I hardly remember him but I do remember that… that I loved him… and then, they say, in a fit of bloodlust, I…”

“He was the bird you pounced as a toddler…”

A cringe and whimper seized him, “I  _ screamed _ , seeing what I had done… that horrid shriek still rings in my ears, and sometimes I can’t help but scream  _ again _ ,” he groaned, and then shifted his weight to lean against Judy, much to her surprise, “Sometimes… it’s not so loud… like when you’re happy…”

Her ears warmed, “You mean, when you-?”

“No,” he quickly corrected, “ _ You _ , Judy.  When you’re happy and nearby…”  Grav stared a moment, blinked, and then lowered his knees to sit cross-legged, “Mutually exclusive circumstances, unfortunately.  I almost felt it at the restaurant yesterday, when you were with Bo… and then when you were with your foxes…” His ears sprung up again, stiffening from them to his toes as he trembled anew to state, “The time is nigh, and they will not be happy with me.”

_ Okay, okay… okay, he’s probably talking about Uncle Magnus and… some group that intends to do me harm… but why, does he think he can hold me hostage? _   “Gra _ ham _ ,” she caught herself, and tried to smile, if as small as she could, “You said you could get me out of here, right?  You know how?”

“All the ways are sealed,” he admitted dully, “It was the only leverage I had to get tonight’s dinner.  Even if there  _ were  _ a way off the estate, the streets of Knotash might as well belong to  _ him _ anyway.”

_ Shoot… _ “You mean Magnus, right?” she asked, “Well… maybe you can keep me hidden in the manor, you must know all kinds of secret passages in here, considering who built the place, and it will only be for a few hours so that the ZPD can come in with a search warrant, arrest Magnus and his buddies-”

“‘Buddies’… what  _ buddies _ ?”

“The ‘they’ you mentioned,” she answered, “They want to get back at me and my friends for foiling their plot at the TBR.”

Grav was horrorstruck and turned on her to grasp her arms, “ _ No! _ ” he pleaded, and to her rapt bewilderment, explained, “It’s Dad and  _ Mom _ that want you because your reaction to the  _ midnicampum holicithias _ is  _ exactly _ what they were looking for!”

The world went mute for Judy.  “…What…?”

“And do you think this place is a  _ home _ ?” he groaned, “It’s a giant laboratory, for  _ her _ !  She’s always needed test subjects, especially since the PredaTherp scandal shut down Cliffside, so Dad welcomes everyone into the Hopps Manor, but the only ways out are to either follow  _ her _ or  _ him _ … some have lived here long enough they’ve made families of their own.  Dad keeps everything, every _ one _ tightly controlled and monitored around the clock…” he sighed and raked his scalp, “The only times the control center mutes the microphones is if a couple wants privacy, and only for four minutes, longer if they’re in  _ his _ good graces,” he said, looking significantly at Judy, “Or when  _ I _ eat… the sound sickens them so they turn it off for a set amount of time, and that’s about to end…”

“Oh my gosh, I am in such danger…” Judy blurted out.

“All I wanted was to join you on the other side of Eternity, where our crossed stars can shine on forever; where  _ they _ can never get us,” he rued, face in his paws, “but it’ll be like it’s always been: ‘therapy is for those who need reminding of what they are’, and what use is a monster that cannot  _ kill _ …”

_ No… No!  There’s still a way out of this, there has to be… _ “Graham,” she said again but without self-correction, and earned his attention, “You’re  _ not _ a monster, you never  _ were _ ,” and got a doubtful eye, “Okay, maybe you’re a jerk, a  _ colossal _ jerk, but I know plenty of bunnies who are jerks, heck,  _ I _ know a thing or two about being jerk,” she began to ramble before his gaze flattened, “But my point is, there’s still a chance to do some good.  I mean,  _ look _ !” and pointed to the knife, “ _ You _ stopped  _ yourself _ .  You relinquished without me having to fight it off of you, right?  And… you said you showed some the other bunnies how to escape. So…” Judy continued as she saw his face soften, “logically speaking, there  _ should _ still be hope for you.”

“A fine sentiment,” he commended, “However, we’re still trapped here, and if we  _ could _ escape, there’s no one we can get to in time…” and petered off.

Judy saw a look brewing in his dark purple eyes which reminded her of when Nick was struck with an  _ especially _ crazy idea (although nowhere near as electrifying, being a bunny as opposed to a fox), and so leaned in, “ _ But _ …?”

“There is…  _ one _ rabbit that Dad can’t get his fingers around,” he pondered, and tapped his chin, “Can I get us there soon enough…?  It’ll be  _ tight _ , but maybe… there’s a  _ minuscule  _ chance…”

_ Yes! _ Judy inwardly whooped, “Good, a chance is all we need.  Who’s this bunny?”

“Uncle Ozzy.  He oversees my  _ muscular hyperatrophy _ treatments, always has ever since I was born.  He’s also brilliant, and the leading authority on the disorder,” he explained, and began smoothing out the fur on his head as he stood up, and then held out his paw for Judy, “There’s an express elevator that goes right up to his office; he’s usually there on Monday evenings.”

She stood and, likewise, began correcting her dress and carcanet (with apt reverence), but undid the corsage to toss it off to the side.  “Oh, that’s great-” and then stopped to stare, “Graham, you’re not talking about Felix Oswald Lapis, are you?”

“Of  _ course _ ,” he said, as he attempted to fix his bowtie, “Who  _ else _ would I be talking about?”

“Right, of course,” Judy muttered,  _ From Clea’s side of the family… I guess he’s the one bunny in all of Knotash that Magnus couldn’t control, _ and cleared her throat as she stood in front of Graham and re-tied his neckwear in the blink of an eye, “Honestly, you’re worse than my brothers.”

“Oh… thank you,” he said quietly, his ears then swiveling, “Time is short, we’ll need to move quickly.  Follow my lead,” and held out his arm.

She dismayed the bedlam that was the dining room, “What about  _ this _ …?”

“Pay it no heed,” he dismissed, and then waggled his elbow.

“Oh… ‘kay…” Judy doubted, but looped her arm in his, “Where are we going?”

“The garage, and if anyone asks -- not that anyone  _ will _ \-- I’m showing you Pearl.  I obsess over her and show her off whenever the opportunity affords, so it won’t draw suspicion,” he said but did not slyly smirk as Judy hoped he would.

“‘Pearl’…” she repeated, recalling what some of the other bunnies in the manor said about “Brother Grav’s love affair”, and then huffed, “Did you  _ really _ name your car ‘Blood Pearl’, after Unlucky Hect’s pirate ship?”

He grinned, though not in the stitched way she remembered, “Wait until you see her,” and his ears swiveled.  He whispered masterfully, “The mics will be on soon. Remember that everything you say from this point will be monitored.”

Judy nodded, putting on an airy smile as they approached and knocked on the door.  The muffled voices of the guards outside were bewildered before Hilde opened up and peeked in.  The door opened wider, as did her eyes when she witnessed the late afternoon sun and overhead lamp illuminate the wreckage: one of the napkins caught fire from the candle that had fallen on it, the toppled over bucket of foul regurgitate, along with the crashed table and its broken dishes, and the iPaw sound system that continued along to blare the climax of its classical selection.

“You know the drill,” Graham jeered in an uneven smirk, tossing a thumb over his shoulder as he strode past the aghast guards with an authoritative air.

Judy remained silent in a ladylike demeanor, if one uncharacteristically submissive, as they walked down the hallway.  Indeed, it seemed that everyone they passed by (quite a few of which were hurrying custodial units or peeking bunnies keeping behind ajar doors) gave Graham a wide berth, and either avoided catching his gaze or seemed awestruck when they saw her.   _ I guess I’m never coming back to Knotash… _ Judy lamented behind her nonchalant delight.

* * *

The electric “carriage” driver was dismissed almost as soon as he was within earshot, and Graham sat behind the wheel (after assisting Judy in) and took off at a reasonable, inconspicuous speed.  Before, the grounds were peaceful, but at that point, they seemed to tremble like the buckling of a structure threatening to give out. Along the way, heeding the warning of observation from earlier, they engaged in idle chatter, mainly Graham pointing out truly interesting aspects of the estate en route to the garage, and Judy sincerely enjoying the educational tour, especially from someone who _really_ knew their stuff.  _If only you weren’t convinced that you were some blood-crazed murderer, Graham, you would’ve made a decent friend,_ she couldn’t help but wonder, _Even if there’s still a lot of… jerk-ness to work through_ , she noticed, restraining her distaste at his inability to recognize that barbed criticisms were neither funny nor witty.  _I rather like that name… ‘Graham’, better than ‘Grav’, anyway… just what_ is _‘Grav’?_

They pulled into the garage and down two levels, passing by mainly empty “Visitor” spots, and quite a few vehicles put up on display, as though they themselves were only for viewing.  Graham pulled up to his private workshop, the door of which automatically opened after a concise chime from the breast pocket of his jacket. Judy didn’t wait for Graham to assist her out, although he didn’t seem intent to, rather standing near his car to grin wide.

“Judy, Pearl,” he introduced succinctly, “Pearl, Judy,” and welcomed the silver rabbit in, dropping the pretense and hopping over to the passenger door to open it, “Tick tock, tick tock, my loves, no time to say hello/goodbye.”

“We’re  _ late _ ?” Judy gasped and grabbed the front of her dress to, likewise, hop over and into the awaiting seat of a sturdy, comfortable snakeskin interior.

“We’re late,” Graham confirmed, closing the door and vaulting in behind the wheel.  He pulled Judy’s phone from his coat pocket and held it out to her, “Here."

“Oh!” she started, “ _ You _ had it all this time?”

“As a token.  Only turn on it  _ after  _ you leave Knotash, that is  _ crucial _ ,” he instructed, pulling out another phone from his other coat pocket, “The WiFi here is  _ stellar _ and it will be tracked.  Also, I suggest getting a new battery for it.  Here, say something,” Graham also instructed, holding out his own phone in a sleek, burnt sepia case after several taps and swipes of the screen to make it chirp.

“What,  _ anything _ ?” she asked in doubt.

“‘What,  _ anything _ ?’” the phone repeated and as Graham quirked a bemused brow and pout, it continued, “ _ Voiceprint set for full rights and access. _ ”

“Knotash security and identification are largely based on  _ voice recognition _ ,” he explained to quell his put off passenger, his own face no less bemused, “Remember that passcode and its  _ inflection _ , Judy, because I’m not changing it.  Hold this,” and grinned before handing it over.  She glowered and accepted it, looking at the screen to find a countdown.  “Feel free to speak at your whim, because once  _ that _ hits zero, it’s a straight shot off this estate, and then three minutes, forty-two seconds to Hexward.”  Pearl revved to life as he pressed the ignition button, headlights bright and garage dimming, the dashboard display brilliant with its information about Knotash’s time of day, idealistic weather, and what traffic would be like on the way to Hexward (along with some suggestions for dessert and options to order for a drive-by pick-up).

“Is it that close?” Judy asked, watching as the seconds fell away from the mobile screen.

“No, but we’ll be going that fast,” he chuckled maniacally as the hardtop roof of the car closed overhead, “Also, check the glove box.”

_ In any other circumstance… _ she fumed, but noticed that she didn’t have a lot of time left, and so popped the hatch of the container before her to find a small black book… except thicker than what was left behind on her nightstand that morning.  “Is this…?”

“The unabridged version,” Graham boasted, “The one I dare never let anyone else see.  Read it, let me know what you think after all this is done. And, oh yes, don’t forget your seatbelt.”

The three items were held first in her lap, Judy juggling their emotional weight as she buckled herself in, and then kept it all close to her bejeweled chest.   _ Okay, he can’t drive any worse than Nick… _ Judy assumed as Graham’s phone chimed the countdown’s conclusion after Pearl growled in anticipation.

They were off in a blood-orange blur through the garage and around curves at breakneck speed, the doors opening in precise time to their arrival, and closing just as immediately.  Down the driveway, they went towards the main gate as perimeter guards stood out of the way of anywhere near the path of Graham and Pearl. The gates were opened, though the guard at the front tried to close them at the last second it was too late, they were out on the artificially sunset-christened streets of Knotash.

Like streams of stars flashing by, Judy hardly had the time or desire to admire the ephemeral architecture, only remembering what she saw in books about the immense overhead tree, the masonry, the integrated electrical system, and lights…  Indeed, she could only focus on what was immediately in front of her as the driver wove through cars with mind-numbing fluidity and speed. His phone chimed again and upon the windshield glowed a soft, peripheral display,  _ “Hello, Grav”  _ it said, and made a signal to the right at an opening tunnel off from the street.

“Private highway,” Graham reported, and glanced up at the display as they slid down onto the best-maintained road Judy had ever seen, “I  _ will _ need to get that name changed, though…”  Her eyes went wider as she saw flashing lights in the rearview mirror and an announcement over the car’s radio, gasping and about to crane her neck before being barked at, “Don’t be seen!” he said, turning off the radio, “They’re not here for  _ you _ , and likely don’t know you’re with me, yet.”

“So, they  _ weren’t _ sent by Magnus…  Do they think you’re just a speedster?” she reasoned, sitting a little lower in the seat.

“No, not that either.  It’s because I violated my house arrest and the alert went out one minute, fifty-three seconds ago,” he laughed, “Though I suppose my speeding  _ also  _ factors into their persistence.”

“And when did you plan on telling me this!”

“When I dropped you off at Hexward.”

The answer struck Judy between the eyes, “You… you were never going to leave the car, were you?”

“Judy,” Graham beamed, glancing up at the Burrow Watch motorcycles gathering far behind him, “I finally joined the rest of the rabbit community today by accepting the inevitable fate of one who is cursed.  At least  _ this _ way, I can see the look on my father’s face when he realizes that I’ve stolen you from his clutches.”

“Graham…”

“You’re wrong, Litt-…” and chuckled again, “No, I suppose the ‘Little Moth’ is  _ I _ , who flit so close to the blaze that is  _ you _ , and so burst into a glorious, cleansing flare…  I  _ am _ a monster, Candleflame, but perhaps I can be a little more than that by doing the right thing… if for the wrong reason.”  He took his eyes off the road for an instant to look at his distraught passenger, smiled, and then revved the engine to lose his distant pursuers and whip around a wide arch, into an out-of-sight drop-off station with a bright,  Hexward sign overhead.  “Quickly!” he urged, but she was already unbuckled and hopping from the car, and as instantly as he arrived, Graham was gone, down the underground highway with only the echo of a perfectly tuned engine to tell that he was there.

_ Ahh, biscuits! _ Judy fumed,  _ I meant to ask him about that cut clover sigil in the artifact room… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might recognize "but I'm curious: after you kill me...?" from Capt. Hecor Barbossa, "The Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl". The line fit so nicely into this situation and was part of my inspiration for the dinner scene, additionally, Hector Barbossa also inspired some design and character choices for Bag-o'-Bones, a.k.a., "Unlucky Hect" (from Judy's trip through "The Burrow", back in Trustworthy); "Barbossa" translates to "Red Beard" for the curious. Feel free to draw parallels.
> 
> The line "Curse this dress!" comes from Merida, "Brave" (because there needed to be at least one more reference to the movie) and it does seem like a thing Judy would say (so long as the person who got her the dress wasn't within earshot, consciencious rabbit that she is).
> 
> "No time to say hello/goodbye" is borrowed from the White Rabbit in the original animated movie, "Alice in Wonderland". Perhaps I bend and twist the dialog a bit too much in this regard but fitting in these Disney quotes is always a treat for me (so long as it doesn't sound shoehorned or contrived which is bound to happen...).
> 
> Suffice to say, Grav... Graham has been a curious character to write. I have no idea where he came from or that he would be this instrumental to the story (one of the idiosyncrasies to organic writing, I'm told), only that he epitomized the sadistic antagonist... or so I thought. The more I developed him and figured out who he is, the more I realized that there was someone else behind those dark eyes, that there was a "Graham" behind the "Grav"; even his name was pulled out of the air, later influencing his parents' names, Magnus and Clea (the four forces of the universe: gravity, magnetism, weak/strong nuclear). I won't go into further details here but know that Graham will return in following books of the Neverwere Moments.
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The monster lay slain at the foot of his throne, no more to tyrannize the rabbits of Justilled. Sir Norton set into place his crested shield and the Midnight Thorn which finally fell the sorcerer, Tolozar, to hobble out to where the sun began to set behind the distant horizon. 'Well done, good knight,' it said to him, 'Rest now, for your work is done.' The proud rabbit sat to watch the eve darken, his heart alight as the stars emerged, the rabbits of ages past greeting him into their honored ranks as he, at long last, found peace."
> 
> \--Ending excerpt of "The Rabbits of Justilled VII: the Midnight Thorn"

The heralding buzz of motorcycles burgeoned the ears as they neared.  Not daring to look back, Judy ducked behind a rounded column of some industrially ornate design, and waited as the better funded, better equipped, and likely enough, more efficient Knotash Burrow Watch sped by in hot pursuit, and didn’t come out until the last flash of light and echo of siren was long gone.  Judy gazed up at the simple, clear  Hexward logo, under which read “The Correct and Proper Use of Pharmaceuticals”.   _ Nick was right, _ she admitted, thinking on an observation he made of the company’s insignia bearing a stag’s pair of virile antlers,  _ It really does resemble a fox’s head _ .

_ Felix Oswald Lapis… _ she mulled, staring along a completely abandoned entryway,  _ I guess most of Knotash is still in Preds’ Corner right now… except those at the Hopps Manor, obviously, _ she reasoned and began her approach of a collection of sturdy glass doors opening automatically as Graham’s phone chimed.  Onward she pressed, feeling less and less comfortable with each step she took. Were it not for the immaculate cleanliness and breathtaking decor of the carpets, walls, and ceiling, looking very much like a cozy hallway for welcoming the well-to-do (most rabbit establishments tend towards tighter spaces than other species’), Judy would be certain that she was the only breathing mammal still existing.   _ It must be between cleaning shifts… _ she reasoned to quell her worry, and upon hearing the chime of an elevator, brightly lit and welcoming, made haste.

_ “Hello Grav,” _ the automated voice said,  _ “Felix Oswald Lapis has been informed of your visit.” _   The doors slid closed as smooth as silk, and up the lift did rise without a jostle or jolt that it hardly felt as if it were moving at all.  Judy’s ears listened to the actually calming ambient music, but before she could identify the song, the doors slid open again.  _ “Have a blessed evening.” _

While the splendor of the walk to the Felix’s office was less grand than the mayor’s in City Hall, since rabbit architecture did not favor large, open areas, it overwhelmed with a paradoxical humility, using earthen colors so reminiscent of a family den with a fire crackling in the hearth, and yet accented in vibrant greens of the flourishing plant life in simple yet decorative pots.  As was common for most bunny establishments, no portrait boasted a single rabbit unless used to identify, not even the Felix himself was depicted alone, if ever joined by likenesses of his predecessors, founding members of Hexward -- or in a very special case -- his former business partner Buckley Stagmire (even if he  _ towered _ over the rabbit, who with his antlers, looked very much like a furry tree in the dead of winter, despite his warm eyes and smile).

_ Okay,  _ Judy steeled, standing upright in her ball gown and opals, hiked the dress with one paw while holding the entrusted items in the other, and strode forward,  _ I’m not out of the woods, yet.  I’ve only met the Felix once, and that was for less than a minute when he congratulated me last year on being the first bunny officer… and he did call to congratulate me for my work on the Pred-Scare, _ she remembered.   _ Maybe he’s in on all this, maybe he’s a tool, maybe he’s completely oblivious to what’s happening, but no matter how this turns out, I  _ will _ return to Bunnyburrow tonight.  He should have a helicopter that comes out of the giant tree, I’m pretty sure I saw that… some time ago, and it should be right over his office, so maybe I can hijack that for an escape in case things go awry… provided someone’s willing to give me a lift.    _ Approaching the wide double doors made from an intricately carved tique, Judy stopped when she spotted a portrait of the Felix from before she was born…

There he stood amongst whom Judy reasonably guessed were his numerous siblings, because there was Clea, snowy white and black-splotched, and the only other rabbit of those gathered that she could name off the top of her head: Mary Ann Lapis.   _ She’s beautiful… _ Judy admired, lamenting the terra cotta rabbit who, even in the portrait, was showing signs of what drove the Felix to initially study medicine, and though he became the leading authority on  _ muscular hyperatrophy _ in rabbits, and discovered numerous other “miracles of medical science” that propelled him to his current success and status, could not save the one bunny he wanted to the most.  It was a history that almost all bunnies knew but rarely spoke of. Judy’s nose wiggled,  _ If I remember correctly, she died in childbirth, and so did her child… _ and then looked over to Clea,  _ She would have to be a carrier since Graham has the disorder…  _ and she looked to Oswald once more,  _ Are you trying to cure him, because you couldn’t save Mary Ann…? _   Judy stared at the double doors looming over her… breathed… and touched the handle only to flinch as it opened automatically.

Inside was an elaborate office, again, nothing so grand as the mayor’s if only because its design was, as its entryway, intentionally humble, and looked more like the study of a grandfatherly individual, complete with facing walls of bookshelves, sitting areas with extraordinarily comfortable-looking chairs, and subdued colors that welcomed the viewer into a familial embrace; encouraged was the kicking-up of one’s feet and the laying down of one’s head.  The far wall was a subtly curved window, and by the view, it was obvious to anyone who saw that they were inside the tree itself, the winding, complex root structure spreading out over Knotash below, with Deciduousville beyond (or as the locals liked to refer to it as, “The Hundred Acre Wood”, even if its total land area was definitely  _ not _ one hundred acres).  The south-facing window was edged by low-hanging sunlight allocated from the dispersal of solar-panel leaves high above, and at the very bottom was a wide, sturdy desk, which the Felix himself was bent over.

Long, ebony ears arched and erected to the presence of a visitor, along with the glimpse of soft eyes that then burst with attention.  He set down a stylus and got up from his high-backed chair to lift away a pair of glasses and blurt out, “Judy Hopps?”

Judy stood awkwardly, wondering if she should cross her fingers and bow her head (considering the proper etiquette), curtsey (considering her dress), stand at attention (considering her profession), or wave (for lack of any direction on how to respond to such a casual greeting).  “Uh,  _ hi _ ,” she chuckled and dropped her dress a moment to wave at chest-height, before picking it up again in hurry to the desk, “Sorry to barge in like this, but I have some  _ very _ important matters to discuss with you,” she reported, before adding a deferential, “sir.”  Every step through the office reminded her that one of the influencers of Zootopia stood at spitting distance.

“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting you, a dress, or you  _ in _ a dress,” admitted Oswald, paws idly gesturing as she set both phones on the book on the desk, which was itself an enormous touch screen displaying numerous programs and files that he was working on, and by simply removing his own phone from the desk, was all minimized, “but, please, let yourself in and make yourself comfortable.  Where’s Grav?” he inquired, recognizing the burnt sepia phone case.

“He’s…” Judy paused,  _ Alright, I’ve got one shot here,  _ “He dropped me off.”

“‘Dropped you off’?” the Felix doubted and took a seat.

“Yes, sir,” she affirmed, still standing, paws moving from being folded at her waist, to being held at her sides,  _ He won’t suspect either Magnus or Clea, considering they’re both his family, so I need to handle this with the utmost caution, _ “He had me over for dinner tonight, and I informed him of some… suspicious activity in Bunnyburrow, specifically to do with the Reunion.”

The white-furred fingers of Oswald’s otherwise black-furred arm drummed in contemplation as he leaned over to one side of the chair, “Do you mean the Lookers in Preds’ Corner?”

_ Oh, yes!  Nick, I could kiss you!  _ Judy jubilated, as calmly as she could, using the jolt of her spine to bounce into a surprised expression,  _ I can use this to bolster the claim that I need to get to Bunnyburrow pronto, _ “You’ve already heard about that?”

“My manager over there said they’ve become a real nuisance, on top of a few  _ other _ things…” he insinuated, and then rubbed his chin as he looked her up and down.

_ Uh oh… _ she fretted.

“However, that doesn’t explain why  _ you’re _ here, right now, in a dress that likely doesn’t cost as much as those opals around your neck, which in turn, surely costs more than  _ triple _ what you make in a  _ year _ .  So, Judy,” he said and leaned an elbow on his desk to drag a single app across the touch screen and adjusted it so she could see that it said “Alarm” with a bright red button under his hovering finger, “I’ll level with you: you waltz into my office with my nephew’s phone but  _ without  _ my nephew, bypass  _ mind-boggling _ layers of security -- kudos, by the way, I’ll need to have those backdoors checked tonight -- and I can’t help but feel that you’re not being completely honest with me right now, which… I’ll admit, it’s disappointing.”

Judy could not be chilled further if an iceberg slid down her back, “Uhh… I…”

“ _ I _ ,” the Felix interrupted, “heard this morning that my nephew is not allowed off the estate for the next month,  _ at least _ , much less capable of ‘dropping you off’ at my doorstep.  That said,” he continued, and withdrew his finger from the bright, red, digital button, “I want to hear from  _ you -- _ about whom praises are sung to make a saint green with envy -- the  _ whole _ truth.”  He then sat back and gestured to one of the desk’s cushioned chairs.

Fumbling a bit, Judy looked behind her and repositioned herself into the offered seat, careful of the dress, and sat down, “I’m sorry, Felix Lapis, but it’s been something of a  _ weird  _ weekend…”

“I’ll  _ bet _ ,” he agreed and was perhaps a little put off that he couldn’t be casual about the conversation, “Whatever got  _ you _ in a  _ dress _ and in my office must be headline news.   _ Still _ ,” Oswald asserted, “I’m pretty sure that whatever your reason is for being here is no light matter.  So, you: the truth, and leave  _ nothing _ out, Judy Hopps.  All things considered, you’ve already proven yourself a brave and trustworthy rabbit in the past year-and-a-half; don’t think I haven’t kept an ear on you ever since you applied for the police academy.  Alright, go ahead,” he instructed, and as a final show of good faith minimized the “Alert” button.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Please, ‘Oswald’.”

And so, Judy explained everything she could, as succinctly as she could, and as straight-faced as she could.  She explained the Night Howler drug in the whipped cream, how she, Nick, Gideon, Bo, and Esther worked to prevent the tragedy at the pie-eating contest (and her personal hopes that it was, indeed, prevented) and build a case against Magnus Hopps.  Oswald listened to all of it, and even opened up a notepad app on his desk to jot stuff down, but was completely deadpan for the most part, save for the occasional, skeptical quirk of the eyebrow. She finished with a low huff, “And that’s when Graham told me that… he wanted to do something  _ right _ , so he gave me his phone to get up here, to  _ you _ .”

The Felix idly cracked his knuckles, “That’s a lot to take in.”

Already exhausted, already reading his expressions through the exposition, Judy deflated, “You’re not convinced.”

“I’m just saying-”

“Do you think I’m  _ lying _ ?” Judy pressed.

“What?   _ No _ ,” Oswald started.

“Or maybe I’ve gone  _ mad _ ?”

“Not  _ that _ kind of ‘mad’, but-”

“Well, if I’m not  _ mad  _ and I’m not  _ lying _ , then logically we must assume I’m telling the  _ truth _ .”

Oswald blinked, and leaned back to rub his eyes, “Judy… Magnus is my brother-in-law, I’ve entrusted him with the welfare of not only myself and my own family, but my  _ company _ and every family therein, on more than one occasion.  This thing with the  _ midnicampum holichithias _ pollen as a narcotic… it’s already a  _ huge _ issue in the city, and maligning him with it requires  _ proof _ .”

Judy slumped forward to bury her beautifully made-up face in her palms.

“Do you  _ have _ proof?” he sincerely asked.

_ If my Mom’s casserole tonight means what I think it means, then they swapped out what was in the Sheriff’s evidence locker with regular whipped cream…  _ “No,” she said dully, “at least, not on me.”

“And where  _ would  _ it be?”

_ At least I can get home tonight, _ she sighed, looking down at the floor where the sun shone its no doubt low-in-the-sky light, “It’s back in Bunnyburrow.”

He nodded, “When you have all that, let me know.  Magnus and I go way back, and I might just call him tonight, see what he has to say on the matter.  Tell you what, I can have my driver take you to the train station… Or I suppose you’d want to pick up some street clothes, first?”

“No no, I wouldn’t want to be any more trouble than I already am; I’ll call a  Züber ,” Judy sighed, pulled out her phone, and remembered not only Graham’s warning but that the battery wasn’t supplying power to it  _ anyway _ , “Actually, my phone’s dead, so I’ll accept the ride.  Thank you.”

Oswald grimaced guiltily, “Sure thing.  Before you go, could I have… You know, I can’t remember the last time anyone called him ‘Graham’,” he said, and got up from his chair to walk around the desk, “Hey, how about this: I actually need to head into Bunnyburrow myself to talk with Mr. McTwisp about this whole…  _ Lookers _ thing, he’s my manager over there, deals with a lot of the intermammalian affairs, specifically when it has to do with upholding the Hexward Tenets.  I wasn’t planning on it until tomorrow morning, but maybe I can give you a lift?”

“That would be  _ amazing _ , thank you,” Judy accepted as she stood, and then asked, “Would that be  _ tonight _ , or…?”

“Oh no, first thing tomorrow.  The helicopter’s ready to go at a moment’s notice, but I wouldn’t head out tonight unless it was  _ dire _ ,” he explained, and at her crestfallen expression, continued, “I can get you somewhere to spend the night, though, that’s not an issue.”

_ Dang… I guess I’ll have to trust that the Felix has a secure line that I can contact Nick with,  _ she hoped as she picked up her effects, “I’d appreciate that.  Oh, what were you going to ask for?”

“Right,” Oswald remembered and pointed to the sepia-cased device, “Go ahead and leave Grav’s phone here, I’m sure Magnus will want it back.”

The phone hovered over the desk as Judy quirked a brow and asked, “Why  _ Magnus _ ?”

“Those phones are our identifiers here in Knotash, bleeding edge technology.  We’ve invested into it a great deal more than the rest of the city, had it honed and developed over the years,” he mildly boasted, “Every building was fitted with the sensors, too; Grav was actually at the forefront of the project, knows all the ins-and-outs… under the direction of Magnus, of course.”

_ Is that so… _ Judy thought, noticed a searching icon pop up on the phone as it neared the desk, and then recalled how the Felix’s own phone was connected earlier by proximity alone,  _ Bleeding edge tech, ‘eh? _   She set the phone carefully onto the touchscreen, rather than the wooden frame, and watched as data streamed onto the desktop computer in a sunburst of the user interface.

Oswald lept, face contorted in confusion and apprehension as he hurried back around to his chair, paw swiping and tapping at the screen, “What is… what is all this?” he demanded, looking to the large, locked icon that appeared, and then to Judy with a gesture of vehement inquisition, “Perhaps you’d like to explain?”

Judy was bent over the desk, watching the gentle glow before looking up at the Felix, “ _ I _ was just about to say that.  Was this on his phone?”

“This isn’t ‘on his phone’,” he corrected sternly, and continued contentiously, though to himself rather than Judy, “ _This_ is obviously that partition my IT guys told me about, which for _some_  reason Grav’s phone accesses.”  He attempted to push the icon but it only bounced in place and was otherwise unresponsive, so he then put his full palm to it but it made no attempts to read its signature, to which he grunted and enunciated, “Unlock: Felix Oswald Lapis,” but again, it remained still.  The Felix stood upright and rubbed an ear firmly in what sounded like admonishing retrospection, “An entire _petabyte_ of data, just sitting there on Hexward’s  servers; IT said it was used for ‘maintenance’ and ‘archives’,” he mumbled to himself, “but why does Grav’s phone access it?”

“Do you have a way to hack it?” she asked aloud,  _ Maybe this is jam-packed with all the information for what happened this weekend…? _

“ _ Yes _ ,” he almost snapped but forced himself to calm, “Sorry.  It’d be a hexadecimal passcode based off voice, so without Grav’s vocal print to unlock it, the world could spiral into the sun before we  _ ever  _ got close to cracking through.  Since Grav violated his house arrest, the Watch can hold him until they turn him over to the ZPD, and then we’re up a creek without a paddle.”

“So… we just need someone else who has access to his phone?” Judy pondered.

Oswald grimaced, “I don’t know who  _ else _ that could be.  Something this size kept entirely off the radar… it would’ve taken  _ years _ to set up… or been there the whole time,” he fretted and rubbed a temple, “The new servers were put in well over a decade ago, and upgraded on several occasions,” he continued.  “He went to college immediately after high school and put his degree to work almost as soon as he graduated, and sure, he kept up his treatments the whole way, but when would he have the time to  _ do _ this…?”

“Felix…” Judy realized.

“Judy, please, ‘Oswald’ is fine-”

“No,  _ ‘Felix’ _ !” she emphasized with a gesture, “Upon becoming Felix you also chose an apprentice-”

“I know how it works,” he said flatly, “and my apprentice is busy right now-”

“ _ Well _ ,” Judy continued, “it’s something a  _ lot  _ of property-owning mammals and  _ rabbits  _ do, not just the Felix.  My Dad chose one of my older brothers to shoulder the responsibility of house patriarch after him, to shadow him and train under him to one day continue in his place.  Now, I heard from some of his siblings that Graham is following in Magnus’s pawprints, like an  _ apprentice _ ,” she implied.

“So… you deduce that because Grav has access to this partition, ergo, it belongs to _Magnus_ …?”

She smiled warily at the dawning realization in his voice, “You…  _ are _ convinced?”

Oswald set his brow into place, as though to hide a guilty expression, “Not saying that I  _ am _ ; I’d like the common decency of  _ concrete proof _ before accusing someone I trust of foul deeds, but it  _ does _ make more sense… Magnus would have more  _ capability _ , more  _ resources _ to maintain something this big and this secret,” he frowned awkwardly, “I mean… whatever doubts  _ I’ve _ harbored about his methods aside, it  _ doesn’t _ answer the question of  _ when _ he would have been able… to…” and trailed off.  His face and ears drained of color, composure straining like a suspension bridge in a hurricane as he reached behind him with a flailing arm to assure where, exactly, his chair was so that he might collapse into it.  “Heavens above…” he wheezed, “Grav’s been seeing me for his treatments for over two decades, and Magnus was always right there, well into adulthood… he insisted on it… even though he wasn’t always in the room, he was always sure to come…”

Judy hurried around to brace Oswald as he stared across the desk, limp in his chair, and then she lifted his head until she saw his eyes focusing again.

“All those _years_ , bringing Grav into Hexward,” Oswald moaned, perhaps only then aware of the knife jutting through his heart from being stabbed in the back.  He grabbed both ears to yank them under his chin in a frightful groan, only to release them so they flung back up as he rocketed to sit straight in his chair, only to lunge forward and collide his forehead dully with the wood frame around the touchscreen desk, repeating the action with a few bobs of his head.  “ _Stupid.  Stupid. Stupid…_ ” he protested, ears slapping the desk each time, “Magnus always _hated_ rabbits with the disorder… _always_ hated Mary Ann, but I thought he turned over a new leaf with Clea and Grav…” Oswald rambled on to himself, head gently rolling side-to-side along the desk, “I wanted to believe so _badly_ that I could save my nephew from all that, and Magnus _knew_ that was my blind spot…  All so he could get… _something_ …”

_ I think he forgot I was here _ , Judy noticed, lips pursing as she busied herself with the lock icon, _ Maybe… Graham got me up here because he must have known the desk could do this, and if that’s the case, then I wonder if…  _ “What, anything?” she said aloud, watching the screen expectantly.

“I don’t  _ know _ …” Oswald heaved, and sat up again to rub his sore forehead, “He must’ve gotten his hooks into the IT bunnies themselves, but I can’t think of anything  _ I _ would have that  _ he  _ would go through so much trouble for… he’s practically set for life as it is.  He’s a  _ food processor _ ; we developed a  _ cure _ for the Night Howler, that’s it.  And it’s not like anybunny  _ wants _ to be the Felix, it’s not an elected position, it’s a  _ huge _ responsibility…”

“Hmm…” Judy continued in thought,  _ Oh, right, inflection, _ “What,  _ anything _ ?”

“I  _ just _ said-”

_ “Hello Judy,” _ the electronic voice chimed from the phone as the icon went from gray to green and the lock opened.  Thousands upon thousands of folders streamed onto the screen, all lining up and awaiting the perusal of either bunny (if they could do more than watch in stunned amazement, although Oswald gawked at Judy for a moment before returning attention to the touchscreen).

When it all stopped, Oswald whipped out his phone and set it on the desktop, which the folder recognized and connected to it in a matter of seconds, “C’mon, c’mon…” he urged.  When it finished, he swiped down as though to pull a shade, and in the wake of his fingers came a keyboard. His typing was swift and grunts of focus few before he tapped the  _ Enter _ key for a final time and declared, “Unlock: Felix Oswald Lapis.”

_ “Hello Felix Lapis,” _ the voice chimed, “ _ Voiceprint set for full rights and access. _ ”

He laughed triumphantly, and by taking both phones off the desk the sealed partition disappeared after a few seconds so that all had returned to how it was.  Oswald stowed his own mobile device into an inner pocket, and then studied his nephew’s, “There, now  _ I _ have administrator rights to whatever’s on this partition.  It’ll take time, but…” he boasted, paused, and then stood up soberly… apologetically, “Judy… I owe you a  _ great  _ deal.”

_ I guess he’s convinced,  _ she thought, and stood upright with both paws folded behind her back, chest out with a smile, “Well, that's what we do at the ZPD…”

The black-furred head shook, “It’s more than that.  Grav’s always had trust issues, sometimes I wondered if he was ever really close with  _ anyone _ beyond me or his parents.  Yet, he was willing to give you not only his  _ phone _ but full access to it, and for  _ you _ , he was willing to violate his house arrest, all of which is no small potatoes here in Knotash.”  To the bashfully blinking, purple eyes, Oswald continued, “The way I see it, that puts a lot of force behind you.”

She could not help but beam, if modestly, “So, you  _ do _ believe me, then?”

The Felix’s mouth pinched on one side in a grin, “You came back after the Pred-Scare, Judy, you did the right thing even though it meant taking your lumps, and lumps were  _ definitely  _ taken.  That shows integrity, and now I’m seeing the facts line up behind you.  As for Magnus, he can talk his way out of a lot of sticky situations, facts or not, and usually at the expense of others.”  Oswald shrugged, “I’ve turned a deaf ear to some of the things I’ve heard about him, assumed them exaggeration or nasty rumors because there was nothing concrete to back them, and also for Clea and Grav’s sake… which, thinking on it, is probably what he  _ anticipated  _ I’d do,” he groaned and rubbed the back of his head.

Judy reached out and touched his arm, “We’re only mammals, Oswald, we make mistakes.  What’s important is what we do to  _ correct  _ them.”

He laughed heartily, “Young lady, I could tell you stories about mistakes that would curl your ears, but  _ this _ one won’t be among those.  You said that you had a case built up against him already, right?  I’ll need to speak with your friend Esther; if she’s as sharp as when she defended Lionheart, I’ll want her insight on this.”

“She’s top shelf, but doesn’t Hexward  _ already  _ have one of the best legal teams in the city?” Judy asked.

“We  _ do _ ,” Oswald sighed, “However, I’m duly nervous about trusting  _ anybunny _ that Magnus had access to.  As it is, your friends are everything he can’t stand, and that’s enough to stay his influence… which I mean to be nicer than it sounds, of course…

“We’ll head out to Bunnyburrow immediately, set up an emergency meeting with McTwisp to dissuade any suspicion.  When Magnus finds out that both you and Grav’s phone are gone, and that he drove by Hexward, it won’t take long to put two-and-two together.  Once I get in touch with your friend Esther, I’ll bring her to my temporary office in Bunnyburrow proper; I have a similar desk set up there, we won’t get the same connection speed, but we’ll manage.  Of course…” Oswald continued, looking again at Judy’s dress after he walked around the desk, “If  _ you’d _ like to change into something more comfortable, I’m sure we can spare-”

“Nope!” Judy assured, and picked up the front of her dress, “This’ll have to do.  Graham said we were already late, so we should assume we’re on borrowed time.”

Oswald flinched, but was quick to recover, “Then it’s a good thing Carlos is a sucker for a pretty face,” he chuckled, ushering her out of the office and down the entry hall towards the private elevator, pulling out his phone and tapping the screen, “Carlos.”

“ _ ¿Sí? _ ” a suave voice came from over the phone.

“How soon can you be airborne?” Oswald asked.

“As soon as possible, Felix Lapis, but to secure a flight plan this late in the day-” he began.

“Judy, say ‘Hi’,” and tilted his phone to face her.

“Hi!” Judy beamed and leaned over to wave at the dark, mocha-furred snout on the other end.

“Four minutes,” Carlos reported, “three if you hurry.”

“ _ Capital _ ,” Oswald commended as they entered the elevator with the appropriate, electronic greetings, “We’re headed to The Brambles,” he elaborated, and after an affirmation, stowed his phone once more.

“A few things,” Judy pointed out, and when Oswald grunted his curiosity she held up a pair of speculative indexes, “I get why we’re flying into Preds’ Corner, that’s where all the Knotash bunnies are and the only other official helipad in Bunnyburrow, but I couldn’t help but notice that Carlos is a  _ fox _ …?” she asked with wryly smirking interest.

“And the best helicopter pilot money can buy,” the Felix boasted, “Luckily for me, he’s one of the  _ smaller  _ fox species, and thus fits comfortably enough inside of a rabbit-sized whirlybird,” he mused, “and isn’t it ironic that foxes are the only mammals I feel I can trust right now…”

“ _ Magnus _ detests  _ foxes _ ?” she declared in mock surprise.

“ _ Never _ would’ve guessed, right?  He says they’re ‘unpredictable’,” and shrugged in good humor.  As they entered into the hangar with the far wall opening up to the preliminary golden glow of a sunset, the helicopter with its folded back blades were spinning to life.  “Ladies first,” he offered, holding the sliding door open for her, even though it opened (and likely, would close) of its own volition. They both hopped in as the aerial vehicle sealed shut and the overhead blades began to spin.  The interior was remarkably comfortable with a pressure-controlled environment, a mini-fridge, and luxuriously plush seats (even if they did have harness-straps, they looked… “optional”, in the sense that they were used primarily for turbulence).

Carlos greeted with a debonair smile (especially to Judy) as they entered, and reported their flight time to be estimated at two hours.  An expedition over the splendor of Zootopia right before sunset. From the tangle-root canopy of Knotash to the evergreen spires of Conifer District.  From the “concrete jungle” of Downtown and the sprawling Savanna Central. Down, past Zootopia Sound and the Bunnyburrow Bridge, where the train connects farm and city.  A two-hour flight to wonder at it all...

Judy was restless.  Things were finally falling into place, and she had so much to report back to Nick, and Gideon, and Esther… and Bo.  She was tense.

Oswald was tense.  He had a masterful manner, though, a diamond-forged rampart of composure regained… he represented all rabbits in Zootopia, after all, he would need to be to go head-to-head and toe-to-toe with the larger mammals, prey and predator alike.  The Felix, who amongst the leading species of the city had a backing which invoked a pause in even the most powerful, owned the whole of the Tri-Burrows. It was the bunnies’ attempt to secure standing in the city nearly a century ago when the Burrows were still new.  The “ownership” was not something sought for, however, as it was a herculean responsibility thrust upon the bunny deemed best capable of dealing with the rest of the city, the rest of the world, on behalf of every bunny that ever lived. The Felix held no say in what happened there, however, except boasting the knowledge that they would have every long-ear turned to them when they spoke.

The two bunnies chatted, a distraction that he was thankful for and she all the willing to provide.  She learned that “Grav” was an endearment from when Graham had a speech impediment as a tyke and could not pronounce his own name.  He learned that the opals she wore were, in fact, the original gems of “Tears for a Sunset”. She offered to give them back, if anyone, to him.  He insisted that, since he had nowhere to put them, the safest place would be to keep them around her neck until they landed. They agreed.

When Oswald was stolen away by important phone calls, Judy graciously permitted it and so sat to collect her thoughts…

_ The ‘death-shriek’…  I suppose if something terrible  _ did  _ happen at the TBR, I or Oswald would’ve heard about it by now… so maybe Nick prevented it, _ she hoped, and felt a bit lighter because,  _ Still, why make a drug that causes it in the first place?  I can’t think it’d work too well as a weapon, or even for purely scientific reasons.  And what could’ve sparked such an interest, anyway? Campfire stories about it are older than dirt, and it’s not like there’s anything concrete about a death-shriek… _   She paused, head lifting up from her palm and eyebrows arching as she glanced down at the “unabridged” journal of Hector Howard.

_ Graham… is it possible that… could it be that Graham death-shrieked as a toddler?  Pouncing a bird that he loved as a friend would be traumatizing, especially at that age…  What little I know about the death-shriek is that it was supposedly meant as a signal to warn other bunnies about a nearby predator, and even amongst those stories, its effects on a predator were sketchy at best…  I figure Magnus would also know about it, and maybe he tried to recreate it? Oh my gosh…  _ she then went pale, forcing herself to stare out the window to hide any despair,  _ How long has this been going on?  Has it all ended in failure, and now he needed to find bunnies that weren’t from Knotash?  And what about Clea? She could’ve been in on this, too… _

_ Pred-therapy…  _ Judy about freaked,  _ ‘Test subjects’… were they faced with screaming rabbits, just to see what effect, if any, it had on predators?  It might explain why they ended up so broken… _   She bore down and steeled herself all the more, and decided instead of thinking about such awful things, to read the book which Graham had given her,  _ I need to get my mind on something a little cheerier _ , Judy thought facetiously.  So, she read the first page… and then the second… and only half of the third before closing its black bindings while the tears were just forming in the corners of her eyes, and before either her host or the pilot yet recognized her horror-stricken state.  Perhaps worst of all was how naïve and pompous she must have sounded to Graham when dismissing Bag-o’-Bones as no more than a ghost story…

“Hey, Judy,” Oswald said, his paw grasping her arm such that she about jumped out of her fur, “ _Relax_.  If anything happened, I would’ve heard about it.  Goodness knows, I’m bound to hear about _something_ , even if all’s well,” he grinned.

She breathed, “Sorry… guess I’m still a bit…  _ on edge _ .”

“Well…” the Felix considered, glancing about for a way to get her mind off of things, and then smiling, he leaned in with a whisper, “I’m sure if you ask  _ real _ nicely, Carlos will let you steer the helicopter for a little bit.”

“But!” Judy flinched, “I don’t even have a student pilot certificate-”

Oswald touched a finger to his lips to shush succinctly, “I won’t tell anyone,” and winked.

After an insistent ushering, Judy gleefully acquiesced and made her way over to the cockpit, wherein Carlos sat with his bushy tail tucked into sling beneath the open back of the seat he sat in; clearly a custom job designed for the comfort of his species.  He glanced up behind his sunglasses and grinned, holding out a spare headset in response to a conversation he no doubt overheard to beckon, “Come fly with me.” And for twelve eternal seconds of the thirty-four minutes in which Judy sat in the co-pilot seat, she barely managed to fly guided over the sparkling gem of Zootopia.

 

* * *

 

The sun was almost set.

The helipad was readied and a driver awaited the Felix’s arrival.

There, off in the nearby field was a grand, reflective sign and an obvious red carpet to attract the attention of the  FELIX , and were it not for Judy recognizing the yellow-striped tent, it would have surely gone ignored.

Judy was ecstatic to meet her friends again, almost able to see them through the tinted windows as they landed.  She fought back the urge to hike up her dress and run the distance to them, instead, accepted another lift from her benefactor.  In the ride over, Nick’s plan to use the Lookers to get the Felix down into Preds’ Corner was fully explained… at least to the best of Judy’s understanding.

Oswald was, perhaps, less than thrilled to know his community of rabbits were being harried for such an ostentatious manipulation but was also less than peeved to know that it was such a prank which, in the end, covered their rendezvous so well.  He stepped from the vehicle when his driver opened the door and saw first the three foxes, two of which he recognized as Nick Wilde and Esther Grey, the third he easily assumed was her brother, Gideon. Nothing about it was casual. Each one was dressed for battle, but it wasn’t the first time Oswald dealt with foxes, and he knew what to expect (or was sure enough).

He then saw the broad-shouldered rabbit, Bo Briar, and remembered first seeing his application for the “Lapis Scholarship” for orphaned rabbits looking to reach for higher things in the world, and remembered how, like Oswald himself, was dead-set on finding a cure for the “bunny curse”.  With his grades and motivation, Bo could have walked into a research position in Hexward then and there… and it was the cold shock of disappointment which faltered Oswald’s professionalism when he remembered that he wanted to be an  MMA fighter, instead, and maybe go into research  _ afterward _ .  He turned an ear towards Judy as she stepped out and into the golden sunset…

Judy hurriedly rose into view, bathed in light that glistened off the silver lace of her dress and powder of her make-up, and seemed to burst from each opal and gilded strand of the carcanet upon her chest.  The great amethysts of her eyes shone brighter still as she approached all those shocked faces, seeing Nick, and Gideon, and Esther… and Bo. Bo stood up first, and even with the length of red carpet between them, she could see, she could tell that he was as happy to see her as she was to see him…  Judy knew because he got that same look in his eye and slack of his jaw when he first saw her; when he had the hardest time stringing together a complete word, much less a complete  _ sentence _ , in his fumbling attempts to greet her.

The world seemed to hang, swing in a single beat of the pendulum before the air filled with a raucous, standing ovation.  The three foxes were on their feet and clapping with all their might; Gideon put his fingers to his teeth and whistled high; Nick threw his head back and cupped his mouth in a howl; Esther called out “Brava!  Brava!”, and had she flowers to throw, she most certainly would have.

“Did you see that!” Gideon gawked, “She jus’ stepped out, and  _ boom _ !”

“Oh, that was  _ beautiful _ , artful!” Esther swooned, “If  _ only  _ I could’ve  _ recorded _ it!”

“You two!” Nick declared, holding his applause only to shove Bo down the red carpet until practically throwing him onto Judy, “Start making some little ones who we can embellish this story to!”

“Blue!” Esther said, bounding up behind him and touching his arm while gesturing between the two of them, “ _ We _ could make someone to tell the story to; it’ll be generational!”

Nick gasped in a smile as his eyes illuminated, “You’re right, we  _ could _ !”

“But guys!” Gideon argued, flanking Nick, “That’ll still take  _ years _ , our best bet is Jude’s siblings, and they already know her!”

“Don’t worry,” Nick assured, paw slicing the air with determination, “I’ll get my Dad in my on this, he’s a grandmaster storyteller: there are  _ two _ eye-witness accounts for the events of the day of my birth, and to date I  _ still _ don’t know which one is correct.  So…” and went on.

As the foxes exchanged in the background, Bo stood mere inches from Judy, having stopped himself short from colliding with her statuesque stance.  He seemed oblivious to the fact that the most powerful rabbit in the city was only a few steps away. “Hi, Juju,” he said as calmly as he could, finally managing to construct enough of a sentence to say, “You look… that’s an  _ amazing  _ dress… Umm... I… I didn’t know this was a  _ formal  _ occasion, or else I would’ve-”

Judy grabbed the collar of his shirt to bend him far enough over to kiss him.  And as such, his eyes were wide and ears high, but as they flopped back and eyelids fluttered, his powerful arms wrapped around the waist to hoist her from the ground as though she were weightless, and spun about with billowing of the lily-white dress.  Bo was, as she always believed, the single point in a maelstrom which she could hold onto, the lighthouse in a dark sea that no matter the squalls, she could return to. Alighting on the ground once again, Judy realized that not only had she touched down from orbit but her foxes had gone quiet…

The Grey siblings were the first to grab her, a pair of paws each lifting her up and into a pair of noses touching at the base of her ears, while a pair of tongues caressed at her cheeks in elated trills and murrs.  What mirth, what gratitude they showed her for coming back, for being the beacon of courage they knew her to be. It was a time of celebration, for a wayward fox, stolen from them by malcontents and deviants, had reappeared in the most glorious way possible, and with her she had such tales to tell and songs to sing that a legend would surely blossom from their recounting.  As the silver rabbit writhed in delight she was soon freed from familial clutches…

Nick reached out for her and she was relinquished into his embrace, their cheeks pressed together and sharing a wide smile each.  Her trust in him proved bountiful, as she always knew it could. Even if she were to walk blindly down a hallway of dangers, she knew Nick would be there as a guide and they’d both step out into the light without a scratch.  Contrary to what she knew of him, however, Nick allowed himself to revel in the very emotions she was so often teased and admonished for.

It happened again… Judy let herself be overcome with joy and, for that moment, in the golden aura of a sunset finally come to an end, the world was the best place it could possibly be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two references here: Judy's argument "if I'm not mad and I'm not lying" comes from Uncle Diggory Kirke in "Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" (I think it's a fun bit of logic); secondly, Carlos the helicopter pilot is based on the Brazilian Helicopter Pilot from "Inside Out", voiced by Carlos Alazraqui; his species is the crab-eating fox.
> 
> Thank you for joining me in Brave, easily the pivotal point where I really started to feel the flow and momentum of writing. Trustworthy took me about three months to write (in its original form) and Brave took me the better part of a year. After reformatting, it should be about the same amount of time. But now that Judy's returned in so glorious a fashion... it's time to get into the crux of the Neverwere Moments. Continue with me, if you will, in the next installment: Loyal.

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive the constant perspective switching between Nicky and John, but this is one of my favorite scenes in the entire story and the flow just wouldn't work if I diced it up into a dozen different section-breaks.
> 
> Just some quick references in this chapter, more cute mentions if anything: "Evil Dr. Porkchop" is from Toy Story; "as her mate’s face lingered with that adorably stupid grin of his" references the animated short from Inside Out: Riley's Date; "The Trumpeter Gator" references Louis from Princess and the Frog; "The War of the Ants and the Grasshoppers" references A Bug's Life; "Montressor" references Treasure Planet.
> 
> As for "Finnick Faire", Finnick is similar to/derived from "Finnigan" which means "fair", as in fair-skinned or fair-haired (fitting, considering Finnick's sandy fur). The rest of his naming choices are based off the Irish legend of Fionn mac Cumhall and acts as a fun contrast to Nick both in the name of "Wilde" vs. "Faire" and because they grow up to be hustlers (thank you, NieveLion, for pointing these out to me). Both he and Nick, as kits, act as polar opposites to how we see them as adults; the former is quiet, demure, and respectful while the latter is optimistic, eager, and trusting. Despite all they've been through, however, we see that they are brothers-in-bonds and that won't change.


End file.
